m  i'^'''^ 


'■i.r>>i«)irHiit!! 


mmi 


...... 


mMlmm 


iTrn  (1  ni !  i ! ' !  r»i  •  •  i  ijm  i  f  m  >  t  in  !,nj_iA 


wi; 


Cy.yAW.yAWJAy>AOTn  i  ("mVito 


mm 
mm 


30^U 


C 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arcinive 

in  2011  witii  funding  from 

Researcin  Library,  The  Getty  Researcii  Institute 


http://www.archive.org/details/lampsofarchitectOOrusk 


^ 


THE 


SEVEN     LAMPS 


ARCHITECTURE. 


T  H  E 


SEVEN    LAMPS 


ARCHITECTURE. 


J  0  H  X    K  U  S  K  I  N , 

AUTHOR   OF    "MODERN   PAINTERS." 

WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS,    DRAWN    ANB    ETCHED    BY    THE    AUTHOR. 


N  E  W    Y  O  K  K  : 
JOHN      WILEY,      161      BROADWAY 

1849. 


R.   I'KAIUMKAD,    PRINTKR, 
112   FULTON    STRKET,    NEW    YORK. 


T.    B.    SMITH,   STKREOTVPKR, 
210  WILLIAM    STREET. 


P  II  E  F  A  C  E  . 


The  memoranda  which  form  the  basis  of  the  following 
Essay  have  been  thrown  together  during  the  preparation 
of  one  of  the  sections  of  the  third  volume  of  "  Modern 
Painters."*  I  once  thought  of  o;ivino;  them  a  more 
expanded  form ;  but  their  utility,  such  as  it  may  be, 
would  probably  be  diminished  by  farther  delay  in  their 
publication,  more  than  it  would  be  increased  by  greater 
care  in  their  arrangement.  Obtained  in  every  case  by 
personal  observation,  there  may  be  among  them  some 
details  valuable  even  to  the  experienced  architect  ;  but 
with  respect  to  the  opinions  founded  upon  them  I  must  be 
prepared  to  bear  the  charge  of  impertinence  which  can 
hardly  but  attach  to  the  writer  who  assumes  a  dogmatical 
tone  in  speaking  of  an  art  he  has  never  practised.     There 


*  The  inordinate  delay  in  the  appearance  of  that  supplementary  volume 
ha?!,  indeed,  been  chiefly  owing  to  the  necessity  under  which  the  writer  felt 
himself,  of  obtaining  as  many  memoranda  as  possible  of  mediaeval  buildings 
in  Italy  and  Normandy,  now  in  process  of  destniction,  before  that  destruction 
should  be  consummated  by  the  Restorer  or  Revolutionist.  His  whole  time 
has  been  lately  occupied  in  taking  drawings  from  one  side  of  buildings,  of 
which  masons  were  knocking  down  the  other  ;  nor  can  he  yet  pledge  himself 
to  any  time  for  the  publication  of  the  conclusion  of  "  Modern  Painters ;"  he 
can  only  promise  that  its  delay  shall  not  be  owing  to  any  indolence  on  his 
part. 


are,  however,  cases  in  which  men  feel  too  keenly  to  be 
silent,  and  perhaps  too  strongly  to  be  wrong ;  I  have  been 
forced  into  this  impertinence;  and  have  sufTered  too 
much  from  the  destruction  or  neglect  of  the  architecture 
I  best  loved,  and  from  the  erection  of  that  which  I  cannot 
love,  to  reason  cautiously  respecting  the  modesty  of  my 
op{)osition  to  the  principles  which  have  induced  the  scorn 
of  the  one,  or  directed  the  design  of  the  other.  And  I 
have  been  the  less  careful  to  modify  the  confidence  of  my 
statements  of  principles,  because  in  the  midst  of  the 
opposition  and  uncertainty  of  our  architectural  systems, 
it  seems  to  me  that  there  is  something  grateful  in  any 
positive  opinion,  though  in  many  points  wrong,  as  even 
weeds  are  useful  that  grow  on  a  bank  of  sand. 

Every  apology  is,  however,  due  to  the  reader,  for  the 
hasty  and  imperfect  execution  of  the  plates.  Having 
much  more  serious  work  in  hand,  and  desiring  merely  to 
render  them  illustrative  of  my  meaning,  I  have  sometimes 
very  completely  failed  even  of  that  humble  aim  ;  and  the 
text,  being  generally  written  before  the  illustration  was 
completed,  sometimes  naively  describes  as  sublime  or 
beautiful,  features  which  the  ])late  represents  by  a  blot.  I 
shall  be  grateful  if  the  reader  will  in  such  cases  reier  the 
expressions  of  praise  to  the  Architecture,  and  not  to  the 
illustration. 

JSo  far,  however,  as  their  coarseness  and  rudeness 
admit,  the  plates  are  valuable  ;  being  either  copies  of 
nic-MKtraiida  made  upon  the  sjxd,  or  (Plates  IX.  and  XI.) 
enlarged  and  adapted  from  Daguerreotypes,  taken  under 
my  own  superintendence.  Unfortunately,  the  great 
distance  iVom  the  ground  of  the  window  which  is  the 
subject   of    Plate    IX.   renders  even   the    Daguerreotype 


PREFACE.  VU 

indistinct ;  and  I  cannot  answer  for  the  accuracy  of  any 
of  the  mosaic  details,  more  especially  of  those  which 
surround  the  window,  and  which  I  rather  imagine,  in  the 
original,  to  be  sculptured  in  relief.  The  general  propor- 
tions are,  however,  studiously  preserved  ;  the  spirals  of 
the  shafts  are  counted,  and  the  effect  of  the  whole  is  as 
near  that  of  the  thing  itself,  as  is  necessary  for  the 
purposes  of  illustration  for  which  the  plate  is  given.  For 
the  accuracy  of  the  rest  I  can  answer,  even  to  the  cracks 
in  the  stones,  and  the  number  of  them  ;  and  though  the 
looseness  of  the  drawing,  and  the  picturesque  character 
which  is  necessarily  given  by  an  endeavor  to  draw  old 
buildings  as  they  actually  appear,  may  perhaps  diminish 
their  credit  for  architectural  veracity,  they  \vi\\  do  so 
unjustly. 

The  system  of  lettering  adopted  in  the  few  instances 
in  which  sections  have  been  given,  appears  somewhat 
obscure  in  the  references,  but  it  is  convenient  upon  the 
whole.  The  line  which  marks  the  direction  of  any 
section  is  noted,  if  the  section  be  symmetrical,  by  a  single 
letter ;  and  the  section  itself  by  the  same  letter  with  a 
line  over  it,  a. — d.  But  if  the  section  be  unsymmetrical, 
its  direction  is  noted  by  two  letters,  a.  a.  a„  at  its  extre- 
mities ;  and  the  actual  section  by  the  same  letters  with 
lines  over  them,  a.  a.  d^,  at  the  corresponding  extremities. 

The  reader  will  perhaps  be  surprised  by  the  small 
number  of  buildings  to  which  reference  has  been  made. 
But  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  the  following  chapters 
[)retend  only  to  be  a  statement  of  principles,  illustrated 
each  by  one  or  two  examples,  not  an  essay  on  European 
architecture ;  and  those  examples  I  have  generally  taken 
either  from  the  buildings  which  I  love  best,  or  from  the 


schools  of  architecture  which,  it  appeared  to  ine,  liave 
been  less  carefully  described  than  they  deserved.  I  could 
as  fully,  though  not  with  the  accuracy  and  certainty 
derived  from  personal  observation,  have  illustrated  the 
principles  subsequently  advanced,  from  the  architecture 
of  Egypt,  India,  or  Spain,  as  from  that  to  which  the 
reader  will  find  his  attention  chiefly  directed,  the  Italian 
Romanesque  and  Gothic.  But  my  affections,  as  well  as 
my  experience,  led  me  to  that  line  of  richly  varied  and 
magnificently  intellectual  schools,  which  reaches,  like 
a  high  watershed  of  Christian  architecture,  from  the 
Adriatic  to  the  Northumbrian  seas,  bordered  by  the 
impure  schools  of  Spain  on  the  one  hand,  and  of 
Germany  on  the  other :  and  as  culminating  points  and 
centres  of  this  chain,  I  have  considered,  first,  the  cities 
of  the  A^al  d'Arno,  as  representing  the  Italian  Roman- 
esque and  pure  Italian  Gothic  ;  Venice  and  Verona  as 
representing  the  Italian  Gothic  colored  by  Byzantine 
elements  ;  and  Rouen,  with  the  associated  Norman  cities, 
Caen,  Bayeux,  and  Coutances,  as  representing  the  entire 
range  of  Northern  architecture  from  the  Roinanes(iue  to 
Flamboyant. 

I  could  have  wished  to  have  given  more  examples  from 
our  early  English  Gothic  ;  but  I  have  always  found  it 
impossible  to  work  in  the  cold  interiors  of  our  cathedrals  ; 
while  the  daily  services,  lamps,  and  fumigation  of  those 
upon  the  Continent,  render  them  perfectly  safe.  In  the 
course  of  last  summer  I  undertook  a  jjilgrimage  to  the 
English  Shrines,  and  began  with  Salisbury,  where  the 
consequence  of  a  few  days'  work  was  a  state  of  weakened 
health,  which  I  may  be  permitted  to  name  among  the 
causes  of  the  slightness  and  imperfection  of  the  j^resent 
Essay. 


CONTENTS 


Introductory            

1 

Chapter  I. 

The  Lamp  of  Sacrifice 

1 

II. 

The  Lamp  of  Truth 

25 

m. 

The  Lamp  of  Power    . 

57 

IV. 

The  Lamp  of  Beauty   . 

85 

V. 

The  Lamp  of  Life 

123 

VI. 

The  Lamp  of  Memory 

.     146 

VII. 

The  Lamp  of  Obedience 

165 

Notes 



179 

>^ 


LIST     OF     PLATES. 


Plate 

I.  Ornaments  from  Rouen,  St.  Lo,  and  Venice  to  face  page  23 

n.  Part  of  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Lo,  Normandy          .         .  43 

m.  Traceries  from  Caen,  Bayeux,  Rouen,  and  Beauvads       .  48 

IV.  Intersectional  Mouldings    .         .         .         .         .         .52 

V.  Capital  from  tlie  Lower  Arcade  of  the  Doge's  Palace, 

Venice "73 

VL  Arch  from  the  Fa9ade  of  the  Church  of  San  Michele  at 

Lucca         ........  76 

Vn.  Pierced  Ornaments  from  Lisieux,  Bayeux,  Verona,  and 

Padua "78 

Vm.  Wmdow  from  the  Ca'  Foscari,  Venice          ...  80 
IX.  Tracery  from  the  Campanile  of  Giotto,  at  Florence        .  85 
X.  Traceries  and  Mouldings  from  Rouen  and  Sahsbury      .  105 
XL  Balcony  in  the  Campo  St.  Benedetto,  Venice       .         .112 
Xn.  Fragments  from  Abbeville,  Lucca,  Venice,  and  Pisa      .  129 
Xm.  Portions  of  an  Arcade  on  the  South  Side  of  the  Cathe- 
dral of  Fen-ara    .......  140 

XIV.  Sculptures  from  the  Cathedral  of  Rouen      .        .        .  142 


TUB 


SEVEN  LAMPS 


AECHITECTURE 


INTRODUCTORY. 

Some  years  aii'o,  in  con\ersation  witli  an  artist  whose  works, 
perhaps,  alone,  in  the  present  day,  unite  perfection  of  drawing  with 
resplendence  of  color,  the  writer  made  some  inquiry  respecting  the 
general  means  by  which  this  latter  quality  was  most  easily  to  be 
attained.  The  reply  was  as  concise  as  it  was  comprehensive — 
"  Know  what  you  have  to  do,  and  do  it" — comprehensive,  not  only 
as  regarded  the  branch  of  art  to  which  it  temporarily  applied,  but  as 
expressing  the  great  principle  of  success  in  every  direction  of  human 
efibrt ;  for  I  believe  that  failure  is  less  fre(pK'ntly  attributable  to  either 
insufficiency  of  means  or  impatience  of  labor,  than  to  a  confused 
understanding  of  the  thing  actually  to  be  done  ;  and  therefore,  while 
it  is  properly  a  subject  of  richcule,  and  sometimes  of  blame,  that  men 
propose  to  themselves  a  perfection  of  any  kind,  Avhich  reason,  tempe- 
rarately  consulted,  might  have  sho\\Ti  to  be  impossible  with  the  means 
at  their  command,  it  is  a  more  dangerous  error  to  permit  the 
consideration  of  means  to  mterfere  with  our  conception,  or,  as  is  not 
impossible,  even  hinder  our  acknowledgment  of  goodness  and 
perfection  in  themselves.  And  this  is  the  more  cautiously  tq  hp 
remembered ;  because,  while  a  man's  sense  and  conscience,  aided  by 
Revelation,  are  ahyays  enough,  if  earnestly  directed,  to  enable  him  to 


2  ISTKODOCTOKT. 

discover  what  is  right,  neither  liis  sense,  nor  conscience,  nor  feehng, 
are  ever  enough,  l)ecaiisc  they  are  not  intended,  to  determine  for  him 
what  is  possible.  lie  knows  neither  his  own  strength  nor  that  of 
his  fellows,  neither  the  exact  dependence  to  be  placed  on  his  allies 
nor  resistance  to  be  expected  from  his  opjioncnts.  These  are  questions 
respecting  which  passion  may  warp  his  coiiclusiuns,  and  ignorance 
must  limit  them;  but  it  is  his  own  tault  if  either  interfere  with  the 
apprehension  of  duty,  or  the  acknowledgment  of  right.  And,  as 
tar  as  I  have  taken  cognizance  of  the  causes  of  the  many  failures  to 
Avhich  the  efforts  of  intelligent  men  are  liable,  more  especially  in 
mattei"s  political,  they  seem  to  me  more  hvrgL-ly  to  spring  from  this 
sbigle  error  than  from  all  others,  that  the  inquiry  into  the  doubtful, 
and  in  some  sort  inexplicable,  relations  of  capabiUty,  chance,  resistance, 
and  inconvenience,  invariably  precedes,  even  if  it  do  not  altogether 
supei-sede,  the  determination  of  what  Is  aljsolutely  desirable  and  just. 
Nor  is  it  any  wonder  tliat  sometimes  the  too  cold  calcnUition  of  our 
powers  should  reconcile  us  too  eiisily  to  oiu-  short  comings,  and  even 
lead  us  into  the  fatal  error  of  supposing  that  our  conjectural  utmoet 
is  in  itself  well,  or,  in  other  words,  that  the  necessity  of  offences 
rendei-s  them  inotll-nsive. 

What  is  true  of  human  polity  seems  to  me  not  less  so  of  the 
distinctively  pohtical  art  of  Architecture.  I  have  long  felt  connnced 
of  the  necessity,  in  order  to  its  progress,  of  some  determined  effort 
to  extricate  from  the  confused  mass  of  partial  traditions  and  dogmata 
with  which  it  has  become  encumbered  during  imperfect  or  restricted 
practice,  those  large  i)rincii)les  of  right  which  are  ajiplicable  to  every 
stage  and  style  of  it.  Uniting  the  technical  and  imaginative  elements 
as  essentially  as  humanity  does  soul  and  body,  it  shows  the  same 
infirmly  balanced  hability  to  the  prevalence  of  the  lower  part  over 
the  higher,  to  the  interference  of  the  constructive,  with  the  purity  and 
simplicity  of  the  reflecti\  e,  element.  This  tendency,  like  every  other 
form  of  materialism,  is  incrciising  wth  the  advance  of  the  age ;  and 
the  only  laws  which  resist  it,  based  upon  partial  precedents,  and 
already  regarded  with  disrespect  as  decrepit,  if  not  with  defiance  as 
t}Tannical,  are  evidently  ina])plicable  to  the  new  forms  and  fiuictions 
of  the  art,  which  the  necessities  of  the  day  demand.  How  many 
these  necessities  may  become,  cannot  ha  conjectured ;  they  rise, 
strange  and  impatient,  out  of  every  modern  shadow  of  change.  How 
far  it  may  be  possible  to  meet  them  without  a  sacrifice  of  the  essential 


INTRODUCTORY.  3 

characters  of  architectural  art,  cannot  be  determined  by  specific 
calculation  or  observance.  There  is  no  law,  no  principle,  based  on 
past  practice,  which  may  not  be  overthrown  in  a  moment,  by  the 
arising-  of  a  new  condition,  or  the  invention  of  a  new  material ;  and 
the  most  rational,  if  not  the  only,  mode  of  averting  the  danger  of 
an  utter  dissolution  of  all  that  is  systematic  and  consistent  in  our 
practice,  or  of  ancient  authority  in  our  judgment,  is  to  cease  for  a 
little  while,  our  endeavors  to  deal  with  the  multiplying  host  of  par- 
ticular abuses,  restraints,  or  requirements  ;  and  endeavor  to  determine, 
as  the  guides  of  every  etfort,  some  constant,  general,  and  irrefragable 
laws  of  right — laws,  which  based  upon  man's  nature,  not  upon  his 
knowledge,  may  possess  so  far  the  unchangeableness  of  the  one,  as 
that  neither  the  increase  nor  imperfection  of  the  other  may  be  able 
to  assault  or  invalidate  them. 

There  are,  perhaps,  no  such  laws  peculiar  to  any  one  art.  Their 
range  necessarily  includes  the  entire  horizon  of  man's  action.  But 
they  have  modified  forms  and  operations  belonging  to  each  of  his 
pursuits,  and  the  extent  of  their  authority  cannot  surely  be  considered 
as  a  diminution  of  its  weight.  Tliose  peculiar  aspects  of  them  which 
belong  to  the  fii-st  of  the  arts,  I  have  endeavored  to  trace  in  the 
following  pages  ;  and  since,  if  truly  stated,  they  must  necessarily  be, 
not  only  safeguards  against  every  form  of  error,  but  sources  of  every 
measure  of  success,  I  do  not  think  that  I  claim  too  much  for  them 
in  calling  them  the  Lamps  of  Architecture,  nor  that  it  is  indolence, 
in  endea\-oring  to  ascertain  the  true  nature  and  nobility  of  their  fire, 
to  refuse  to  enter  into  any  curious  or  special  questioning  of  the  innu- 
merable hindrances  by  which  their  light  has  been  too  often  distorted 
or  overpowered. 

Had  this  farther  examination  been  attempted,  the  work  would  have 
become  certainly  more  in\-idious,  and  perhaps  less  useful,  as  hable  to 
errors  which  are  avoided  by  the  present  simplicity  of  its  plan. 
Simple  though  it  be,  its  extent  is  too  gTeat  to  admit  of  any  adequate 
accomplishment,  unless  by  a  devotion  of  time  which  the  writer  did 
not  feel  justified  in  ^^'ithdrawing  from  branches  of  inquiry  in  which 
the  prosecution  of  works  already  undertaken  has  engaged  him. 
Both  arrangements  and  nomenclature  are  those  of  convenience  rather 
than  of  system  ;  the  one  is  arbitrary  and  the  other  illogical :  nor  is 
it  pretended  that  all,  or  even  the  gi-eater  number  of,  the  piinciples 
necessary  to  the  well-being  of  the  art,  ai"e  included  in  the  inquiry. 


IXTUODUCTORV. 


Many,  however,  of  considerable  importance  \\ill  be  found  to  develop© 
themselves  incidentally  fi'om  those  more  specially  brouijlit  forward. 

Graver  apoloixy  is  necessary  for  an  apj)arently  graver  fivult.  It  has 
been  jast  said,  that  there  is  no  branch  of  human  work  whose  constant 
laws  have  not  close  analogy  with  those  which  govern  every  other 
mode  of  man's  exertion.  But,  more  than  this,  exactly  as  we  reduce 
to  greater  simjtlicity  and  siuety  any  one  group  of  these  practical 
laws,  we  shall  lind  them  passing  the  mere  condition  of  connection  or 
analogy,  and  becoming  the  actual  expression  of  some  ultimate  nerve 
or  fibre  of  the  mighty  laws  which  govern  the  moral  world.  However 
mean  or  inconsiderable  the  act,  there  is  something  in  the  well  doing 
of  it,  which  has  fellowshi2>  with  the  noblest  forms  of  manly  \-irtue ; 
and  the  truth,  decision,  and  temperance,  wliich  we  reverently  regard 
as  honorable  conchtions  of  the  spiritual  being,  have  a  representjxtive 
or  derivative  influence  over  the  works  of  the  hand,  the  movements 
of  the  frame,  and  the  action  of  the  intellect. 

And  as  thus  every  action,  down  even  to  the  drawing  of  a  lin*  or 
utterance  of  a  syllable,  is  capable  of  a  peculiar  dignity  in  the  manner 
of  it,  which  we  sometimes  express  by  saying  it  is  truly  done  (us  a 
line  or  tone  is  true),  so  also  it  is  capable  of  dignity  still  higher  in  the 
motive  of  it.  For  there  is  no  action  so  slight,  nor  so  mean,  but  it 
may  be  done  to  a  great  purpose,  and  ennobled  therefore ;  nor  is  any 
purpose  so  gi'cat  but  that  slight  actions  may  help  it,  and  may  be  so 
done  as  to  help  it  much,  most  especially  that  chief  of  all  purposes, 
the  pleasing  of  God.     Hence  George  Herbert — 

"  A  sei-vant  witli  this  clause 
Makes  drudgery  divine ; 
Wlio  sweeps  a  room,  as  i'or  tiiy  laws, 
Malies  that  and  the  action  fine." 

Therefore,  in  the  pressing  or  recommending  of  anv  act  or  manner 
of  acting,  we  ha\e  choice  of  two  sejjarate  lines  of  argument :  one 
based  on  rejnesentation  of  the  expediency  or  inherent  \alue  of  the 
work,  which  is  often  small,  and  always  disputable  ;  tlie  other  ba^ed 
on  proots  of  its  relations  to  the  higher  orders  of  human  virtue,  and 
of  its  acc<jptableness,  so  far  as  it  goes,  to  Him  who  is  the  origin  of 
virtue.  The  former  is  commonly  the  more  persuasi\e  method,  the 
latter  assuredly  the  more  conclusive  ;  only  it  is  liable  to  give  offenc<^, 
as  if  there  were  irreverence  in  adducing  considerations  so  weighty  in 


INTRODUCTORY.  5 

treating  subjects  of  small  temporal  importance.  I  believe,  however, 
that  no  error  is  more  thoughtless  than  this.  We  treat  God  with 
irreverence  by  banishing  Him  from  our  thoughts,  not  by  referring  to 
His  will  on  slight  occasions.  His  is  not  the  finite  authority  or 
intelligence  which  cannot  be  troubled  A\'ith  small  things.  There  is 
nothing  so  small  but  that  we  may  honor  God  by  asking  His 
guidance  of  it,  or  insult  Him  by  taking  it  into  our  own  hands ;  and 
what  is  true  of  the  Deity  is  equally  true  of  His  Revelation.  "We 
use  it  most  reverently  when  most  habitually  :  our  insolence  is  in 
ever  acting  ^nthout  reference  to  it,  our  true  honoring  of  it  is  in 
its  imivei-sal  apphcation.  I  have  been  blamed  for  the  familiar 
introduction  of  its  sacred  words.  I  am  grieved  to  have  given  pain 
by  so  doing ;  but  my  excuse  must  be  my  Avish  that  those  words 
were  made  the  ground  of  every  argument  and  the  test  of  every 
action.  We  have  them  not  often  enough  on  our  lips,  nor  deeply 
enough  in  our  memories,  nor  loyally  enough  in  our  Uves.  The 
snow,  the  vapor,  and  the  stormy  wmd  fulfil  His  word.  Are  our 
acts  and  thoughts  lighter  and  AA-ilder  than  these — that  we  should 
forget  it  ? 

I  have  therefore  ventured,  at  the  risk  of  giving  to  some  passages 
the  appearance  of  irreverence,  to  take  the  higher  line  of  argument 
wherever  it  appeared  clearly  traceable :  and  this,  I  would  ask  the 
reader  especially  to  observe,  not  merely  because  I  think  it  the  best 
mode  of  reaching  ultimate  truth,  still  less  because  I  think  the  subject 
of  more  irapoi-tance  than  many  others  ;  but  because  every  subject 
should  surely,  at  a  period  hke  the  present,  be  taken  up  in  this  spirit, 
or  not  at  all.  The  aspect  of  the  years  that  approach  us  is  as  solemn 
as  it  is  full  of  mystery ;  and  the  weight  of  evil  against  which  we 
have  to  contend,  is  increasing  hke  the  letting  out  of  water.  It  is  no 
time  for  the  idleness  of  meta[)hysics,  or  the  entertainment  of  the  arts. 
The  blasphemies  of  the  earth  are  sounding  louder,  and  its  misei-ies 
heaped  heavier  every  day ;  and  if,  in  the  midst  of  the  exertion  which 
every  good  man  is  called  upon  to  put  forth  for  their  repression  or 
rehef,  it  is  lawful  to  ask  for  a  thought,  for  a  moment,  for  a  lifting  of 
the  finger,  in  any  chrection  but  that  of  the  immediate  and  over- 
whelming need,  it  is  at  least  incumbent  upon  us  to  approach  the 
questions  in  wliich  we  would  engage  him,  in  the  spirit  which  has 
become  the  habit  of  liis  mind,  and  in  the  hope  that  neither  his  zeal 
nor  his  usefulness  may  be  checked  by  the  >vithdi-awal  of  an  hour, 


6  INTRODUCTORY. 

which  has  shown  him  how  even  those  things  which  seemed  mechani- 
cal, mdiff'erent,  or  contemptible,  depend  for  their  perfection  upon  the 
acknowledgment  of  the  sacred  principles  of  faith,  truth,  and 
obedience,  for  which  it  has  become  the  occupation  of  his  hfe  to 
contend. 


CHAPTER    L 


THE     LAMP     OF     SACRIFICE. 


I.  Architecture  is  the  art  vrliicli  so  disposes  and  adorns  the 
edifces  raised  bj  man  for  whatsoever  uses,  that  the  sight  of  them 
contribute  to  his  mental  health,  power  and  pleasure. 

It  is  very  necessary,  in  the  outset  of  all  inquiry,  to  distinguish 
carefully  between  Architecture  and  Building. 

To  build,  litoi^illy  to  confirm,  is  by  common  undei'standing  to  j^ut 
together  and  adjust  the  several  pieces  of  any  echfice  or  receptacle  of 
a  considerable  size.  Thus  we  have  church  building,  house  building, 
ship  building,  and  coach  building.  That  one  edifice  stands,  another 
floats,  and  another  is  suspended  on  iron  springs,  makes  no  dif- 
ference in  the  nature  of  the  art,  if  so  it  may  be  called,  of  building  or 
edification.  The  j^ersons  who  profess  that  art,  are  severally  builders, 
ecclesiastical,  naval,  or  of  whatever  other  name  their  work  may 
justify ;  but  building  does  not  become  architecture  merely  by  the 
stability  of  what  it  erects ;  and  it  is  no  more  architecture  which 
raises  a  church,  or  which  fits  it  to  receive  and  contain  with  comfort  a 
required  number  of  persons  occupied  in  certain  religious  offices,  than 
it  is  arcliitecture  which  makes  a  carriage  commodioas,  or  a  ship 
s^\^ft.  I  do  not,  of  course,  mean  that  the  word  is  not  often,  or  even 
may  not  be  legitiinately,  applied  in  such  a  sense  (as  we  speak  of 
iiaval  arehitecture) ;  but  in  that  sense  architecture  ceases  to  be  one 
of  the  fine  arts,  and  it  is  therefore  better  not  to  run  the  risk,  by 
loose  nomenclature,  of  the  confusion  which  would  arise,  and  has 
often  arisen,  from  extending  principles  which  belong  altogether  to 
LuUding,  into  the  sphere  of  architecture  proper. 

Let  us,  therefore,  at  once  confine  the  name  to  that  art  which, 
taking  up  and  admitting,  as  conditions  of  its  working,  the  necessities 
and  common  uses  of  the  building,  impresses  on  its  form  ceilaiu 
characters  venerable  or  beautiful,  but  otherwise  unnecessary.     Thus, 


8  THE    LAMP    OF    SACIIFICE. 

I  suppose,  no  one  would  call  the  laws  an.  ntectui-al  which  detenniae 
the  height  of  a  breastwork  or  the  position  of  a  bastion.  But  if  to 
the  stone  facing  of  tliat  bastion  be  added  an  unnecessary  feature,  as 
a  cable  moulding,  that  is  Architecture.  It  would  be  siinilaily 
unreasonable  to  call  battlements  or  machicolations  architectural 
features,  so  long  as  they  consist  only  of  an  advanced  gallery  sup- 
ported on  pR)jecting  masses,  with  open  intervals  beneath  for  oft'euce. 
But  if  these  j)r()jecting  masses  be  carved  beneath  into  rounded 
courses,  which  are  useless,  and  if  the  headings  of  the  intervals  be 
areh''d  and  trefoiled,  which  is  useless,  that  is  Architecture.  It  may 
not  be  always  easy  to  draw  the  hne  so  sharply  and  simply ;  Ijecanso 
there  are  few  buildings  which  have  not  some  pretence  or  color  of 
being  architectural ;  neither  can  there  be  any  architecture  which  is 
not  based  on  building,  nor  any  good  architecture  which  is  not 
based  on  good  building;  but  it  is  perfectly  ea<y,  and  very  necessary, 
to  keep  the  ideas  distinct,  and  to  understand  fully  that  Architecture 
concerns  itself  only  with  those  characters  of  an  e<.lifice  which  are 
above  and  beyond  its  common  use.  I  say  common ;  because  a 
building  raised  to  the  honor  of  God,  or  in  memory  of  men,  has 
surely  a  use  to  which  its  architectural  adtjrnment  lits  it ;  l.)Ut  not  a 
use  which  limits,  by  any  inevitable  necessities,  its  pliui  or  deUuls. 

II.  Architecture  proper,  then,  naturally  arranges  itself  under  five 
heads : — 

Devotional;  including  all   building's  raised  for   God's  service   or 
honor. 

Memorial ;  including  both  monuments  and  tombs. 

Civil ;  including  every  edifice  raised  by  nations  or  societies,  for 
pmposes  of  common  bu-siness  or  pleasiu^. 

Military;    including    all     jirivatc    and     public     architecture   of 
defence. 

l.)omestic  ;  including  every  rank  and  kind  of  dwelhng-place. 
Now,  of  the  princij)les  which  I  would  endeavor  to  develope,  while 
all  must  be,  as  I  have  said,  a})])licable  to  every  stage  and  stvle  of 
the  art,  some,  and  especially  those  which  are  exciting  rather  than 
directing,  have  necessarily  fuller  reference  to  one  kind  of  buildiniT 
than  another ;  and  among  these  I  would  jilace  first  that  sj.irit 
which,  having  influence  in  all,  has  nevertheless  such  especial 
reference  to  devotional  and  memorial  architecture — the  spirit  which 
oflfers  for  such  work  precious  things,  simply  because  tliey  aie  precious; 


THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE.  9 

not  as  being  necessary  to  the  building,  but  as  an  offering,  surrender- 
ing, and  sacrifice  of  what  is  to  ourselves  desirable.  It  seems  to  me, 
not  only  that  this  feeling  is  in  most  cases  wholly  wanting  in  those 
who  forward  the  de\otional  buUdings  of  the  present  day  ;  but  that 
it  would  even  be  regarded  as  an  ignorant,  dangerous,  or  perhaps 
criminal  principle  by  many  among  us.  I  have  not  space  to  enter 
into  dispute  of  all  the  various  objections  which  may  be  urged  against 
it — they  are  many  and  specious  ;  but  I  may,  perhaps,  ask  the 
reader's  patience  while  I  set  down  those  simple  reasons  which  cause 
me  to  beheve  it  a  good  and  just  feeling,  and  as  well-pleasing  to  God 
and  honorable  in  men,  as  it  is  beyond  all  dispute  necessarj'  to  the 
production  of  any  great  work  in  the  kind  with  which  we  are  at 
present  concerned. 

III.  Now,  first,  to  define  this  Lamp,  or  Spirit  of  Sacrifice,  clearly. 
I  have  said  that  it  prompts  us  to  the  offering  of  precious  tilings, 
merely  because  they  are  precious,  not  because  they  are  useful  or 
necessaiy.  It  is  a  spu-it,  for  instance,  which  of  two  marbles,  equally 
beautiful,  apphcable  and  durable,  would  choose  the  more  costly, 
because  it  was  so,  and  of  two  kinds  of  decoration,  equally  effective, 
would  choose  the  more  elaborate  because  it  was  so,  in  order  that  it 
might  in  the  same  comjjass  present  more  cost  and  more  thought. 
It  is  therefore  most  unreasoning  and  enthusiastic,  and  perhaps  best 
negatively  defined,  as  the  opposite  of  the  prevalent  feehng  of 
modern  times,  which  desires  to  produce  the  largest  results  at  the 
least  cost. 

Of  this  feeling,  then,  there  are  two  distinct  forms  :  the  first,  the 
wish  to  exercise  selt-denial  for  the  sake  of  self-discipline  merely, 
a  ^vish  acted  upon  in  the  abandonment  of  things  loved  or  desired, 
there  being  no  direct  call  or  purpose  to  be  answered  by  so  doing ; 
and  the  second,  the  desire  to  honor  or  please  some  one  else  by  the 
costliness  of  the  sacrifice.  The  practice  is,  in  the  firet  case,  either 
})rivate  or  public ;  but  most  frequently,  and  perhaps  most  properly, 
pri\ate  ;  while,  m  the  latter  case,  the  act  is  commonly,  and  with 
greatest  advantage,  pubhc.  Xow,  it  cannot  but  at  first  appear 
futile  to  a=<sert  the  expediency  of  self-denial  for  its  own  sake,  when, 
fur  so  many  sakes,  it  is  every  day  necessary  to  a  far  greater  degree 
ilian  any  of  us  practise  it.  But  I  believe  it  is  just  because  we  do 
not  enough  acknowledge  or  contemplate  it  as  a  good  in  itself  that 
we  are  apt  to  fail  in  its  duties  when  they  become  imperative,  and  to 

1* 


10  THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE. 

calculate,  with  some  partiality,  whether  the  good  proposed  to 
others  mpasures  or  warrants  the  amount  of  grievance  to  ourselves, 
instead  of  accepting  with  gladness  the  opportunity  of  sacrifice  as  a 
personal  advantage.  Be  this  as  it  may,  it  is  not  necessary  to  insist 
upon  the  matter  here ;  sine*  there  are  always  higher  and  more 
useful  channels  of  self-sacrifice,  for  those  who  choose  to  practise  it, 
than  any  connected  with  the  arts. 

"While  in  its  second  branch,  that  which  is  especially  concerned 
with  the  arts,  the  justice  of  the  feeling  is  still  more  doubtful ;  it 
depends  on  our  answer  to  the  broad  question,  can  the  Deity  be 
indeed  honored  by  the  presentation  to  Ilim  of  any  material  objects 
of  value,  or  by  any  direction  of  zeal  or  wisdom  which  is  not  im- 
mediately beneficial  to  men  ? 

For,  observe,  it  is  not  now  the  question  whether  the  fairness  and 
majesty  of  a  building  may  or  may  not  answer  any  moral  purpose  ; 
it  is  not  the  result  of  labor  in  any  sort  of  which  we  are  speaking, 
but  the  bare  and  mere  costliness — the  substance  and  lalxir  and  time 
themst'lves  :  are  these,  we  ask,  indej)ondcntly  of  their  result,  accept- 
able ofterings  to  (xod,  and  considered  by  Ilim  as  doing  Him  honor  ? 
So  long  as  we  refer  this  question  to  the  decision  of  feeling,  or  of 
conscience,  or  of  reason  merely,  it  will  be  contradictorily  or  imper- 
fectly answered ;  it  admits  of  entire  ansAver  only  when  we  have  met 
another  and  a  far  different  question,  whether  the  Bible  be  indeed 
one  lx>ok  or  two,  and  whether  the  character  of  God  revealed  in  the 
Old  Testament  be  other  than  Ilis  character  revealed  in  the  New. 

IV.  Now,  it  is  a  most  secure  truth,  that,  although  the  particular 
ordinances  divinely  ap]>ointed  for  sjiecial  jnirj^osos  at  any  given  j>eriod 
of  man's  history,  may  be  by  the  same  diA'ine  authority  abrogated  at 
another,  it  is  impossible  that  any  character  of  God,  appealed  to  or 
described  in  any  ordinance  past  or  present,  can  ever  be  changed,  or 
understood  as  changed,  by  the  abnegation  of  that  ordinance.  God 
is  one  and  the  same,  and  is  pleased  or  dis])leased  by  the  same  things 
for  ever,  although  one  part  of  Ilis  pleasure  may  be  exj>ressed  at  one 
time  rather  than  another,  and  although  the  mode  in  which  His  plea- 
sure is  to  be  consulted  may  be  by  Him  graciously  modified  to  the 
circumstances  of  men.  Tlius,  for  instance,  it  was  necessary  that,  in 
order  to  the  understanding  by  man  uf  the  scheme  of  Redemption, 
that  scheme  should  be  foreshown  tVum  the  beginning  by  the  tvpe  of 
bloody  sacrifice.     But  God  had  no  more  pleasure  iu  such  sacrifice  in 


THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE.  11 

the  time  of  Moses  than  he  has  now ;  He  never  accepted  as  a  propi- 
tiation for  sin  any  sacrifice  but  the  single  one  in  prospective  ;  and 
that  we  may  not  entertain  any  shadow  of  doubt  on  this  subject,  the 
worthlessness  of  all  other  sacrifice  than  this  is  proclaimed  at  the  very 
time  when  typical  sacrifice  was  most  imperatively  demanded.  God 
was  a  spirit,  and  could  be  woi"shipped  only  in  spirit  and  in  truth,  as 
singly  and  exclusively  when  every  day  brought  its  claim  of  typical 
and  material  service  or  oftering,  as  now  when  He  asks  for  none  but 
that  of  the  heart. 

So,  therefore,  it  is  a  most  safe  and  sure  principle  that,  if  in  the 
manner  of  performing  any  rite  at  any  time,  circmnstances  can  be 
traced  which  we  are  either  told,  or  may  legitimately  conclude,  pleased 
God  at  that  time,  those  same  circumstances  will  please  Him  at  all 
rimes,  in  the  performance  of  all  rites  or  offices  to  Avhich  they  may  be 
attached  in  like  manner;  unless  it  has  been  afterwards  revealed 
that,  for  some  special  purpose,  it  is  now  His  will  that  such  circum- 
stances should  be  withdrawn.  And  this  argument  wAl  have  all  the 
more  force  if  it  can  be  shown  tJiat  such  conditions  were  not  essential 
to  the  completeness  of  the  rite  in  its  human  uses  and  bearings,  and 
only  were  added  to  it  as  being  in  themselves  pleasing  to  God. 

V.  Now,  was  it  necessary  to  the  completeness,  as  a  tyj^e,  of  the 
Levitical  sacrifice,  or  to  its  utility  as  an  explanation  of  dixdne  pur- 
poses, that  it  should  cost  anything  to  the  person  in  whose  behalf  it 
was  offered  ?  On  the  contrary,  the  sacrifice  which  it  foreshowed, 
was  to  be  God's  free  gift ;  and  the  cost  of,  or  difficulty  of  obtaining, 
the  sacrificial  tyjjc,  could  only  render  that  type  in  a  measure  obscure, 
and  less  expressive  of  the  offering  which  God  would  in  the  end  pro- 
vide for  all  men.  Yet  this  costliness  was  generally  a  condition  of  the 
acceptableness  of  the  sacrifice.  "  Neither  Avill  I  offer  unto  the  Lord 
my  God  of  that  which  doth  cost  me  nothing."*  That  costhness, 
therefore,  must  be  an  acceptable  condition  in  all  human  offerings  at 
all  times ;  for  if  it  was  pleasing  to  God  once,  it  must  please  Him 
always,  unless  directly  forbidden  by  Him  afterwards,  which  it  has 
never  been. 

Ag"ain,  was  it  necessary  to  the  typical  perfection  of  the  Le\'itical 
offering,  that  it  should  be  the  best  of  the  flock  ?  Doubtless  the 
spotlessness  of  the  sacrifice  renders  it  more  expressive  to  the  Chris- 

*  2  Sam.  xxiv.  24.     Deut.  xvi.  16,  17. 


12  THE   LAMP    OF    8ACBIFICB. 

tian  mind  ;  bat  was  it  bocatvse  so  expressive  that  it  was  actually,  and 
in  so  many  words,  demanded  by  God  ?  Not  at  all.  It  was 
demanded  bv  Ilim  oxpressiy  on  the  i^ame  gi'oinids  on  which  an 
earthly  governor  would  demand  it,  as  a  testimony  of  respect.  "  Offer 
it  now  unto  thy  governor."*  And  the  less  valuable  offering  was 
rejected,  not  becaase  it  did  not  image  Christ,  nor  fultil  tlie  pm-poses 
of  sacrifice,  but  because  it  indicated  a  feeling  that  would  grudge  the 
best  of  its  })tvssessions  to  Him  who  gave  them  ;  and  Ijecause  it  was 
a  l>oId  dishonoring  of  Ood  in  the  sight  of  man.  AVhence  it  may  be 
infallibly  conclnded,  that  in  whatever  offerings  we  may  now  see  rea- 
son to  present  unto  God  (I  say  not  what  these  may  be),  a  condition 
of  their  acceptabhmess  will  be  now,  sis  it  was-  then,  that  they  should 
be  the  best  of  their  kind. 

VI.  13ut  farther,  was  it  necessary  to  the  caiTj-ing  out  of  the 
Mosaical  systena,  that  there  should  be  either  art  or  splendor  in  the 
form  or  services  of  the  tabernacle  or  temple  ?  Was  it  necessary  to 
the  perfection  of  any  one  of  their  typical  offices,  tliat  there  should  be 
that  hanging  of  blue,  and  piu'ple,  and  scarlet  ?  those  taches  of  brass 
and  sockets  of  silver  i  that  working  in  cedar  and  overlaying  with 
gold  ?  One  thing  at  least  is  o-ident ;  there  was  a  deep  and  awful 
danger  in  it;  a  danger  that  the  God  whom  they  so  worshipped, 
might  be  associaUxl  in  the  minds  of  the  serfs  of  Egypt  with  the  god* 
to  whom  thoy  had  seen  similar  gifts  offered  and  similar  honor* 
paid.  The  probability,  in  our  times,  of  fellowshijj  with  the  fe(  lings 
of  the  idolatrous  liomaiiist  is  absolutely  as  nothing  compared  with 
the  danger  to  the  Israelite  of  a  sympathy  with  the  idolatrous  Egy]> 
tian  ;'  no  speculative,  no  unproved  danger ;  but  proved  fatally  1)V 
their  foil  during  a  month's  abandonment  to  their  own  will ;  a  i';iM 
into  the  most  servile  idokitry ;  yet  marked  by  such  offering's  to  tlnir 
idol  as  their  leader  was,  in  the  close  sequel,  instructed  to  bid  tliem 
offer  to  God.  This  danger  was  imminent,  perpetual,  and  of  the  must 
awful  kind :  it  wa.s  the  one  against  which  God  made  provision,  not 
only  by  coTnniaiidinents,  l>y  threateuings,  by  promises,  the  most 
urgent,  repeated,  and  impressive;  but  ])y  temporary  ordinances  of  a 
severity  so  terrible  as  almost  to  dim  for  a  time,  in  the  eyes  of  His 
people.  His  attribute  of  mercy.  The  principal  object  of  every  insti- 
tuted law  of  that  Theocracy,  of  every  judgment  sent  forth  in  its 

•  Mai.  i.  8. 


THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE.  13 

vindication,  was  to  mark  to  the  people  His  hatred  of  idolatry ;  a 
hatred  written  under  their  advancing  steps,  in  the  blood  of  the  Ca- 
naanite,  and  inore  sternly  still  in  the  darkness  of  their  own  desolation, 
when  the  children  and  the  sucklings  swooned  in  the  streets  of  Jeru- 
salem, and  the  lion  tracked  his  prey  in  the  dust  of  Samaria.*  Yet 
against  this  mortal  danger  proxision  was  not  made  in  one  way  (to 
man's  thoughts  the  simplest,  the  most  natural,  the  most  effective),  liy 
withdrawing  from  the  worship  of  the  Divine  Being  whatever  could 
delight  the  sense,  or  shape  the  imagination,  or  limit  the  idea  of 
Deity  to  place.  This  one  way  God  refused,  demanding  for  himself 
such  honors,  and  accepting  for  Himself  such  local  dwelling,  as  had 
been  paid  and  dedicated  to  idol  gods  by  heathen  worshippei-s  ;  and 
for  what  reason  ?  Was  the  glory  of  the  tabernacle  necessary  to  set 
forth  or  image  his  diN^ine  glory  to  the  minds  of  His  people  ?  What ! 
purple  or  scarlet  necessary  to  the  people  who  had  seen  the  great  river 
of  Eg\-pt  run  scarlet  to  the  sea,  under  His  condemnation  ?  What ! 
golden  lamp  and  cherub  necessary  for  those  who  had  seen  the  tires 
of  heaven  falling  hke  a  mantle  on  Mount  Sinai,  and  its  golden 
courts  opened  to  receive  their  mortal  lawgiver  ?  What !  silver  clasp 
and  fillet  necessary  when  they  had  seen  the  silver  waves  of  the  Red 
Sea  clasp  in  their  arched  hollows  the  corpses  of  the  horse  and  his 
rider  ?  Nay — not  so.  There  was  but  one  reason,  and  that  an  eter- 
nal one  ;  that  as  the  covenant  that  He  made  with  men  was  accom- 
panied with  some  external  sign  of  its  continuance,  and  of  His 
remembrance  of  it,  so  the  acceptance  of  that  covenant  might  be 
marked  and  signified  bv  nso,  in  some  external  sign  of  their  love  and 
obedience,  and  surrender  of  themselves  and  theirs  to  His  will ;  and 
that  their  gratitude  to  Him,  and  continual  remembrance  of  Him, 
might  have  at  once  their  expression  and  their  enduring  testimony  in 
the  presentation  to  Him,  not  only  of  the  firstlings  of  the  herd  and 
fold,  not  only  of  the  fi-uits  of  the  earth  and  the  tithe  of  time,  but  of 
all  treasures  of  wisdom  and  beauty  ;  of  the  thought  that  invents,  and 
the  hand  that  labors ;  of  wealth  of  wood,  and  weight  of  stone ;  of 
the  strength  of  iron,  and  of  the  light  of  gold. 

And  let  us  not  now  lose  sight  of  this  broad  and  unabrogated 
principle — I  might  say,  incapable  of  being  abrogated,  so  long  as 
men  shall  receive  earthly  gifts  from  God.     Of  all  that  they  have  liis 

*  Lam.  ii.  11.     2  Kings,  xvii.  25. 


14  THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE. 

tithe  must  ho  rendered  to  Iliin,  or  in  so  far  and  in  so  niueli  Tie  is 
forgotten  :  of  the  skill  and  of  the  treasure,  of  tlie  strength  and  of 
the  mind,  of  the  time  and  of  the  toil,  ottering  must  be  made  reve- 
rently ;  and  if  there  be  any  ditference  between  the  Levitical  and  the 
Christian  otfering,  it  is  that  the  latter  may  be  just  so  much  the  wider 
in  its  range  as  it  is  less  tyjiical  in  its  meaning,  as  it  is  thankful  instead 
of  sacriticial.  There  can  be  no  excuse  acc('})ted  because  the  Deity 
does  not  now  visibly  dwell  in  His  temple ;  if  He  is  invisible  it  is 
only  through  our  failing  faith  :  nor  any  excuse  because  other  calls 
are  more  immediate  or  more  sacred  ;  this  ought  to  be  done,  and  not 
the  other  left  undone.  Yet  this  objection,  as  frequent  as  feeble,  must 
be  more  specifically  answered. 

VII.  It  has  been  said — it  ought  always  to  be  said,  for  it  is  true — 
that  a  better  and  more  honorable  offering  is  made  to  our  Master  in 
ministry  to  the  poor,  in  extending  the  knowledge  of  His  name,  in 
the  practice  of  the  virtues  l>y  which  that  name  is  hallowed,  than  in 
material  presents  to  His  temple.  Assuredly  it  is  so  :  woe  to  all  who 
think  that  any  other  kind  or  manner  of  offering  may  in  any  M-ise 
take  the  place  of  these  !  Do  the  people  need  place  to  pray,  and 
calls  to  hear  His  word  ?  Then  it  is  no  time  for  smoothing  pillars  or 
carving  pulpits  ;  let  us  have  enougli  first  of  walls  and  roots.  Do  the 
people  need  teaching  from  house  to  house,  and  bread  from  day 
to  day  ?  Then  they  are  deacons  and  ministers  we  want,  not  architects. 
I  insist  on  this,  I  plead  for  this  ;  but  let  us  examine  ourselves,  and 
see  if  this  be  indeed  the  reason  for  our  backwardness  in  the  lesser 
work.  The  question  is  not  between  God's  house  and  His  jioor:  it 
is  not  between  God's  house  and  His  Gospel.  It  is  between  God's 
house  and  ours.  Have  we  no  tesselated  colors  on  our  floors  ?  no 
frescoed  fancies  on  our  roofs  ?  no  niched  statuary  in  our  corridoi's  ? 
no  gilded  furniture  in  our  chambers  ?  no  costly  stones  in  our  cabinets  ? 
Has  even  the  tithe  of  these  boen  offered  ?  They  are,  or  they  ought 
to  be,  the  signs  that  enough  lias  been  devoted  to  the  great  purposes 
of  human  stewardship,  and  that  there  remains  to  us  what  we  can 
spend  in  luxury  ;  Init  there  is  a  greater  and  prouder  luxury  than  this 
selfish  one — that  of  l>ringing  a  portion  of  such  things  as  these  into 
sacred  service,  and  ])resenting  them  for  a  memorial*  that  our 
pleasure  as  well  as  our  toil  lia-s  been  hallowed  by  the  remembrance 

•  Num.  xxsi.  54.     Psa.  l.x.\vi.  11. 


THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE.  IS 

of  Him  who  gave  both  the  strength  and  the  reward.  And  until 
this  has  been  done,  I  do  not  see  how  sneh  possessions  can  be  retained 
in  happiness.  I  do  not  understand  the  feehng  which  would  arch 
our  own  gates  and  pave  oiu-  own  threshokls,  and  leave  the  church 
with  its  narrow  door  and  foot-worn  sill ;  the  feeling  Avhich  enriches 
our  own  chambers  with  all  manner  of  costliness,  and  endures  the  bare 
wall  and  mean  compass  of  the  temple.  There  is  seldom  e\en  so 
severe  a  choice  to  be  made,  seldom  so  much  self-denial  to  be  exercised. 
There  are  isolated  cases,  in  which  men's  happiness  and  mental  activity 
depend  upon  a  certain  degree  of  luxury  in  their  houses ;  but  then 
this  is  true  luxury,  felt  and  tasted,  and  profited  by.  In  the  plurality 
of  instances  nothing  of  the  kind  is  attempted,  nor  can  be  enjoyed ; 
men's  average  resources  cannot  reach  it ;  and  that  which  they  can 
reach,  gives  them  no  pleasure,  and  might  be  spared.  It  will  be  seen, 
in  the  course  of  the  following  chaptei-s,  that  I  am  no  advocate  for 
meanness  of  private  habitation.  I  Avould  fain  introduce  into  it  all 
magnificence,  care,  and  beauty,  where  they  are  possible  ;  but  I  would 
not  have  that  useless  expense  in  unnoticed  fineries  or  formalities ; 
cornicings  of  ceilings  and  sTainino;  of  doors,  and  fi-infrinof  of  curtains, 
and  thousands  such ;  things  which  have  become  foolishly  and 
apathetically  hal)itual — things  on  whose  common  appliance  hang 
whole  trades,  to  which  there  never  yet  belonged  the  blessing  of 
gi%'ing  one  ray  of  real  pleasure,  or  becoming  of  the  remotest  or  most 
contemptible  use — things  which  cause  half  the  expense  of  hfe,  and 
destroy  more  than  half  its  comfort,  manhness,  respectability,  fi-eshness, 
and  facility.  I  speak  fi-om  experience  :  I  know  what  it  is  to  live  in 
a  cottage  with  a  deal  floor  and  roof,  and  a  hearth  of  mica  slate ;  and 
I  know  it  to  be  in  many  respects  healthier  and  happier  than  hnng 
between  a  Tin-key  carpet  and  gilded  ceiling,  beside  a  steel  grate  and 
polished  fender.  I  do  not  say  that  such  things  have  not  then*  place 
and  propriety ;  but  I  say  this,  emphatically,  that  the  tenth  part  of 
the  expense  which  is  sacrificed  in  domestic  vanities,  if  not  absolutely 
and  meaninglessly  lost  in  domestic  chscomforts  and  incumbrances, 
would,  if  collectively  oftered  and  msely  employed,  build  a  marble 
chui'ch  for  every  town  in  England  ;  such  a  church  as  it  should  be  a 
joy  and  a  blessing  even  to  pass  near  in  our  daily  ways  and  walks, 
and  as  it  would  bring  the  light  into  the  eyes  to  see  from  afar,  hfting 
its  foir  height  above  the  pxirple  crowd  of  humble  roofs. 

VIII.  I  have  said  for  every  town  :  I  do  not  want  a  marble  church 


16  THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE. 

for  every  xnll.aoje  ;  nay,  I  do  not  want  marble  churches  at  all  for  their 
own  sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  spirit  that  would  build  them.  The 
churcli  ha.s  no  need  of  any  visible  splendors ;  her  power  is  inde- 
jicndt'iit  of  them,  her  purity  is  in  some  degree  opposed  to  them. 
The  simplicity  of  a  jjastoral  sanctuary  is  lovelier  than  the  majesty  of 
an  urban  temple ;  and  it  may  be  more  than  questioned  whether,  to 
the  people,  such  majesty  has  ever  been  the  source  of  any  increase 
of  effective  piety ;  but  to  the  builders  it  has  been,  and  must  ever  be. 
It  is  not  the  church  we  want,  but  the  sacrifice  ;  not  the  emotion  of 
admiration,  but  the  act  of  adoration  ;  not  the  gift,  but  the  gi\"ing.^ 
And  see  how  much  more  charity  the  full  undoi-standing  of  this  might 
admit,  among  classes  of  men  of  naturally  opjiosite  feelings  ;  and  how 
much  more  nobleness  in  the  work.  There  is  no  need  to  offend  by 
importunate,  self-proclaiming  splendor.  Your  gift  may  be  given  in 
an  unprcsuming  way.  Cut  one  or  two  shafts  out  of  a  porphyry 
Avhose  preciousncss  those  only  would  know  who  would  desire  it  to  be 
so  used ;  add  another  month's  labor  to  the  under-cutting  of  a  few 
capitals,  whose  delicacy  will  not  be  seen  nor  loved  by  one  beholder 
of  ten  thousand ;  see  that  the  simplest  masonry  of  the  edifice  be 
perfect  and  substantial ;  and  to  those  who  regard  such  things,  their 
witnt'ss  will  be  clear  and  impressive  ;  to  those  who  regard  them  not, 
all  will  at  Iciust  be  inoffensive.  But  do  not  think  the  feeling  itself  a 
folly,  or  the  act  itself  useless.  Of  what  use  was  that  dearly  bought 
water  of  the  well  of  Bethlehem  with  which  the  King  of  Isra^-l  slaked 
the  dust  of  AduUum  ?  yet  was  not  thus  better  than  if  he  had  drunk 
it  ?  Of  what  use  was  that  jiassionate  act  of  Christian  sacrifice, 
against  which,  first  uttered  by  the  false  tongue,  the  very  objection  we 
would  now  conquer  took  a  sullen  tone  for  ever  ?*  So  also  let  us 
not  ask  of  what  use  our  offering  is  to  the  church :  it  is  at  least  better 
for  us  than  if  it  had  been  retained  for  ourselves.  It  may  be  better 
for  others  also  :  there  is,  at  any  late,  a  chance  of  this  ;  though  we 
must  always  fearfully  and  widi-lyshun  the  thought  that  the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  temple  can  materially  add  to  the  ctHciency  of  the 
woi-ship  or  to  the  power  of  the  ministry.  Whatever  we  do,  or 
whatever  we  offer,  let  it  not  interfere  with  the  simplicity  of  the  one, 
or  abat^,  as  if  iv))lacing.  the  zeal  of  the  other.  That  is  the  abuse 
and   tallacy  of   Romanism,  by  which   the   true  s]»int  of  ChristiiUi 

»  John  xii.  5. 


THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE.  17 

offering  is  directly  contradicted.  The  treatment  of  the  Papists' 
temple  is  eminently  exhibitory ;  it  is  surface  work  throughout ;  and 
the  danger  and  enl  of  their  church  decoration  lie,  not  in  its  reality — 
not  in  the  true  wealth  and  art  of  it,  of  which  the  lower  people  are 
never  cognizant — but  in  its  tinsel  and  glitter,  in  the  gilding  of  the 
shrjue  and  painting  of  the  image,  in  embroidery  of  dingy  robes  and 
crowding  of  imitated  gems  ;  all  this  being  frequently  thrust  forward 
to  the  concealment  of  what  is  really  good  or  great  in  their  building-s.^ 
Of  an  offering  of  gratitude  which  is  neither  to  be  exhibited  nor 
rewarded,  which  is  neither  to  win  praise  nor  purchase  salvation,  the 
Romanist  (as  such)  has  no  conception. 

IX.  While,  however,  I  would  especially  deprecate  the  imputation 
of  any  other  acceptableness  or  usefulness  to  the  gift  itself  than  that 
which  it  receives  from  the  spirit  of  its  presentation,  it  may  be  well  to 
observe,  that  there  is  a  lower  advantage  which  never  fails  to 
accompany  a  dutiful  observance  of  any  right  abstract  principle. 
While  the  tii"st  fruits  of  his  possessions  were  required  from  the 
Israelite  as  a  testimony  of  fidelity,  the  payment  of  those  fii-st  fruits 
was  nevertheless  rewarded,  and  that  connectedly  and  specifically,  by 
the  increase  of  those  possessions.  YVealth,  and  length  of  days,  and 
peace,  were  the  promised  and  experienced  rewards  of  his  offering, 
though  they  were  not  to  be  the  objects  of  it.  The  tithe  paid  into 
the  storehouse,  was  tlie  express  condition  of  the  blessing  which  there 
should  not  be  room  enough  to  receive.  xVud  it  vrill  be  thus  always  : 
God  never  forgets  any  work  or  labor  of  love  ;  and  whatever  it  may 
be  of  which  the  first  and  best  portions  or  powers  have  been  presented 
to  Him,  he  wU  multiply  and  increase  sevenfold.  Therefore,  though 
it  may  not  be  necessarily  the  interest  of  religion  to  admit  the  service 
of  the  art<,  the  arts  will  never  flourish  until  they  have  }x?cn  primarily 
devoted  to  that  serx-ice — devoted,  both  by  architect  and  emjdoyer ;  bv 
the  one  in  scrupulous,  earnest,  aftijctionate  design ;  by  the  other  in 
expenditure  at  least  more  frank,  at  least  less  calculating,  than  that 
which  he  would  admit  in  the  indulgence  of  his  own  private  feelino-s. 
Let  this  principle  be  but  once  fairly  acknowledged  among  us  ;  and 
however  it  may  be  chilled  and  repressed  in  practice,  however  teeble 
may  be  its  real  influence,  however  the  sacredness  of  it  may  be 
diminished  by  counter-workings  of  vanity  and  self-interest,  yet  its 
mere  acknowledgment  Avould  bring  a  reward ;  and  A\'ith  our  present 
accumulation  of  means  and  of  intellect,  there  would  be  such  an 


18  THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE. 

impulse  and  vitality  given  to  art  as  it  has  not  felt  since  the  thirteenth 
century.  And  I  do  not  assert  this  a-s  other  than  a  natural  conse- 
quence :  I  sliould,  indeed,  exi)ect  a  larger  measure  of  every  great 
and  spiritual  faculty  to  b(^  always  given  where  those  faculties  had 
been  wisely  and  religiously  employed ;  but  the  impulse  to  which  I 
refer,  would  be,  humanly  speaking,  certain  ;  and  would  naturally 
result  from  obi'dience  to  the  two  great  conditions  enforced  by  the 
Spirit  of  S.'icritice,  fii"st,  that  we  should  in  everything  do  our  best; 
and,  secondly,  that  we  should  cousidcr  increase  of  apparent  labor  as 
an  increase  of  beauty  in  the  building.  A  few  ])ractical  deductions 
from  these  two  conditions,  and  I  have  done. 

X.  For  the  first :  it  is  alone  enough  to  secure  success,  and  it  is 
for  want  of  observing  it  that  wc  continually  fail.  We  are  none  of 
us  so  good  architects  as  to  be  able  to  work  habitually  beneath  our 
strength  ;  and  yet  there  is  not  a  building  that  I  know  of,  latelj"- 
raised,  wherein  it  is  not  sufficiently  evident  that  neither  architect 
nor  builder  has  done  his  best.  It  is  the  especial  characteristic  of 
modern  work.  All  old  work  nearly  has  been  hard  work.  It  may 
be  the  hard  Avork  of  children,  of  barbarians,  of  rustics  ;  but  it  is 
always  their  utmost.  Ours  Inis  as  constantly  the  look  of  money's 
worth,  of  a  stopping  short  wherever  and  whenever  we  can,  of  a  lazy 
compliance  with  low  conditions  ;  never  of  a  fair  putting  forth  of  our 
strength.  Let  us  have  done  with  this  kind  of  work  at  once  :  cast 
oft"  every  teiuptation  to  it :  do  not  let  us  degrade  oui-selves  volun- 
tarily, and  then  jnutter  and  mourn  over  our  short  comings  ;  let  us 
confess  our  poverty  or  our  parsimony,  but  not  belie  our  human 
intellect.  It  is  not  even  a  question  of  how  much  we  are  to  do,  but 
of  how  it  is  to  be  done  ;  it  is  not  a  question  of  doing  more,  but  of 
doing  better.  Do  not  let  us  boss  our  roofs  with  wretched,  half- 
worked,  blunt-edged  rosettes ;  do  not  let  us  flank  our  gates  with 
rigid  imitations  of  mediaeval  sUituary.  Such  things  are  mere  insults 
to  common  sense,  and  only  unfit  us  for  feeling  the  nobility  of  their 
])rototypes.  We  have  so  much,  sup])Ose,  to  V)e  spent  in  decoration  ; 
let  us  go  to  the  Flaxman  of  his  time,  whoever  he  may  be,  and  bid  < 
him  carve  for  us  a  single  statue,  frieze  or  cajutal,  or  as  many  as  we 
can  aflbrd,  compelling  ui)on  him  the  one  condition,  that  they  shall 
be  the  best  he  can  do  ;  jdace  them  where  they  will  l.>e  of  most  value, 
and  lie  content.  Our  other  capitals  may  be  mere  blocks,  and  our  other 
niches  empty.     No  matter :  better  our  work  unfinished  than  all  bad. 


THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE,  19 

It  may  be  that  we  do  not  desire  ornament  of  so  high  an  order : 
choose,  then,  a  less  de\'eloped  style,  also,  if  you  will,  rougher 
material ;  the  law  which  we  are  enforcing  requires  only  that  what 
we  pretend  to  do  and  to  give,  shall  both  be  the  best  of  their  kind  ; 
choose,  therefore,  the  Norman  hatchet  work,  instead  of  the  Flaxmau 
fiieze  and  statue,  but  let  it  be  the  best  hatchet  work ;  and  if  you 
cannot  afford  marble,  use  Caen  stone,  but  from  the  best  bed  ;  and  if 
not  stone,  brick,  but  the  best  brick  ;  preferrijig  always  what  is  good  of  a 
lower  order  of  work  or  material,  to  what  is  bad  of  a  higher ;  for  this 
is  not  only  the  way  to  improve  every  kind  of  work,  and  to  put 
every  kind  of  material  to  better  use ;  but  it  is  more  honest  and 
unpretending,  and  is  in  harmony  with  other  just,  upright,  and 
manly  principles,  whose  range  Ave  shall  have  presently  to  take  into 
consideration. 

XL  Tlie  other  condition  which  we  had  to  notice,  was  the  value 
of  the  appearance  of  labor  upon  architecture.  I  have  spoken  of 
this  before  ;*  and  it  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  most  frequent  sources  of 
pleasure  which  belong  to  the  art,  always,  however,  within  certain 
souKr-what  remarkable  limits.  For  it  does  not  at  first  appear  easily 
to  be  explained  why  labor,  as  represented  by  materials  of  value, 
should,  without  sense  of  wrong  or  error,  bear  being  wasted  ;  Avhile 
the  waste  of  actual  workmanship  is  always  painful,  so  soon  as  it  is 
a])parent.  But  so  it  is,  that,  while  precious  materials  may,  v/ith  a 
certain  profusion  and  negligence,  be  employed  for  the  magnificence 
of  what  is  seldom  seen,  the  work  of  man  cannot  be  carelessly  and 
idly  bestowed,  without  an  immediate  sense  of  wrong  ;  as  if  the 
strength  of  the  living  creature  were  never  intended  by  its  Maker  to 
be  sacrificed  in  vain,  though  it  is  -well  for  us  sometimes  to  part  with 
what  we  esteem  precious  of  substance,  as  sliowing  that  in  such 
a  ser\ace  it  becomes  but  dross  and  dust.  And  in  the  nice  balance 
between  the  straitening  of  etfort  or  enthusiasm  on  the  one  hand,  and 
vainly  fasting  it  away  upon  the  other,  there  are  more  questions 
than  can  be  met  by  any  but  very  just  and  watchful  feeling.  In 
general  it  is  less  the  mere  loss  of  labor  that  otiends  us,  than  the 
lack  of  judgment  implied  by  such  loss  ;  so  that  if  men  confessedly 
work  for  work's  sake,  and  it  does  not  appear  that  they  are  ignorant 
where  or  how  to  make  their  labor  tell,  we  shall  not  be  grossly 

*  Mod.  Painters,  Part  I.  Sec.  1.  Chap.  3. 


20  THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE. 

offended.  On  the  contrary,  we  shall  be  pleased  if  tho  work  be  lost 
in  carrying  out  a  principle,  or  in  avoiding  a  deception.  It,  indeed, 
is  a  law  jiroporly  belonging  to  another  part  of  our  suliject,  but  it 
may  V)e  allowably  stat*'d  here,  that,  whenever,  by  the  construction 
of  a  building,  some  parts  of  it  are  hidden  from  the  eye  which  are 
the  continuation  of  others  bearing  some  consistent  ornament,  it 
is  not  well  that  the  ornament  should  cease  in  the  parts  con- 
cealed ;  credit  is  given  for  it,  and  it  should  not  be  decepti\ely 
withdrawn  :  as,  fur  instance,  in  the  sculpture  of  the  backs  of  the 
statues  of  a  temple  pediment ;  never,  perhaps,  to  be  seen,  but  yet 
not  lawfully  to  be  left  unfinished.  And  so  in  the  working  out  of 
ornaments  in  dark  concealed  places,  in  Avhich  it  is  best  to  err  on  the 
side  of  completion ;  and  in  the  carrying  round  of  string  courses,  and 
other  such  continuous  work  ;  not  l)ut  that  they  may  stop  sometimes, 
on  the  point  of  going  into  some  palpal)ly  impenetrable  recess,  but 
then  let  them  stop  boldly  and  markedly,  on  some  distinct  terminal 
ornament,  and  never  be  supposed  to  e.\ist  where  they  do  not.  The 
arches  of  the  towei-s  which  tlank  the  transt'pts  of  Kouen  Cathedral 
have  rosette  ornaments  on  their  spandrils,  on  the  three  visible  sides  ; 
none  on  the  side  towards  the  roof.  The  right  of  this  is  rather  a 
nice  i)oint  for  ([uestion. 

XII.  Visilnlity,  ho'.vever,  we  mu<t  remember,  dej/euds,  not  only 
on  situation,  Imt  on  distance  ;  and  there  is  no  way  in  which  work  is 
more  painfullv  and  unwisely  lost  than  in  its  over  delicacy  on  parts 
distant  from  the  eye.  Here,  again,  the  principle  of  honesty  must 
govern  our  treatment :  we  must  not  work  any  kind  of  ornament 
which  is,  perhaps,  to  cover  the  whole  building  (or  at  least  to  occur  on 
all  parts  of  it)  delicately  where  it  is  near  the  eye,  and  rudely  where  it 
is  removed  from  it  That  is  trickery  and  dishonesty.  Consider, 
first,  what  kinds  of  ornaments  will  tell  in  the  distance  and  what 
near,  and  so  distribute  them,  keeping  such  as  by  their  nature  are 
delicate,  down  near  the  eye,  and  throwing  the  bold  and  roujjfli  kinds 
of  work  to  the  to]) ;  and  if  there  be  any  kind  which  is  to  l)e  both 
near  and  far  o(f,  take  care  that  it  be  as  Ix^hliy  and  rudely  wrought 
where  it  is  well  seen  as  where  it  is  distant,  so  that  the  specfcitor  may 
know  exactly  what  it  is,  and  what  it  is  worth.  Tints  chequered 
patterns,  and  in  general  such  ornaments  as  common  workmen  can 
execute,  may  extend  over  the  whole  building ;  but  bas-reliefs,  and 
fine  niches  and  capitals,  should  be  kept  down,  and  the  common 


THE    LAMP    OF    SACniFICE.  21 

sense  of  tliis  will  always  give  a  building  dignity,  even  thougli  there 
be  some  abruptness  or  awkwardness,  in  the  resulting  an-angenients. 
Thus  at  San  Zeno  at  Verona,  the  bas-reliefe,  full  of  incident  and 
interest,  are  confined  to  a  parallelogram  of  the  front,  reaching  to  the 
height  of  the  capitals  of  the  columns  of  the  porch.  Above  these, 
we  find  a  simple,  though  most  lovely,  little  arcade  ;  and  above  that, 
only  blank  wall,  with  square  face  shafts.  The  whole  effect  is  tenfold 
grander  and  better  than  if  the  entire  facade  had  been  co\ered  ■\\ith 
bad  work,  and  may  serve  for  an  example  of  the  way  to  place  little 
where  we  cannot  afford  much.  So,  again,  the  transept  gates  of 
Rouen*  are  covered  with  delicate  bas-reliefe  (of  which  I  shall  speak 
at  greater  length  presently)  up  to  about  once  and  a  half  a  man's 
height ;  and  above  that  come  the  usual  and  more  visible  statues  and 
niches.  So  in  the  campanile  at  Florence,  the  circuit  of  bas-reliefs  is 
on  its  lowest  story  ;  above  that  come  its  statues ;  and  above  them  all 
its  pattern  mosaic,  and  twisted  columns,  exquisitely  finished,  like  all 
Itahan  work  of  the  time,  but  still,  in  the  eye  of  the  Florentine, 
rough  and  commonplace  by  comparison  with  the  bas-reliefe.  So 
generally  the  most  delicate  niche  work  and  best  mouldings  of  the 
French  Gothic  are  in  gates  and  low  windows  well  Anthin  sight ; 
although,  it  being  the  very  spirit  of  that  style  to  trust  to  its 
exuberance  for  effect,  there  is  occasionally  a  burst  upwards  and 
blossoming  unrestrainably  to  the  sky,  as  in  the  pediment  of  the 
west  front  of  Rouen,  and  in  the  recess  of  the  rose  window  behind  it, 
where  there  are  some  most  elaborate  flower-mouldings,  all  but 
in\isible  from  below,  and  only  adding  a  general  enrichment  to  the 
deep  shadows  that  reheve  the  shafts  of  the  advanced  pediment.  It 
is  observable,  however,  that  this  very  work  is  bad  flamboyant,  and 
has  corrupt  renaissance  character  in  its  detail  as  well  as  use ;  while 
in  the  earUer  and  grander  north  and  south  gates,  there  is  a  very 
noble  proportioning  of  the  work  to  the  distance,  the  niches  and 
statues  which  crown  the  northern  one,  at  a  height  of  about  one 
hundred  feet  from  the  ground,  being  alike  colossal  and  simple ; 
visibly  so  from  below,  so  as  to  induce  no  deception,  and  yet  honestly 
and  well  finished  above,  and  all  that  they  are  expected  to  be  ;  the 

*  Henceforward,  for  the  sake  of  convenience,  when  I  name  any  cathe- 
dral town  in  this  manner,  let  me  be  understood  to  speak  of  its  cathedral 
church. 


22  THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE. 

features  very  beautiful,  full  of  expression,  and  as  delicately  wrought 
as  any  work  of  the  jieriod. 

XIII.  It  is  to  be  remembered,  however,  that  while  the  ornaments 
in  every  fine  ancient  building,  without  exception  so  far  as  I  am  aware, 
are  most  di'licate  at  the  base,  they  are  often  in  greater  effective  qtian- 
titi/  on  the  u])])er  parts.  In  high  towei-s  this  is  perfectly  natural  and 
right,  the  solidity  of  the  foundation  being  as  necessary  as  the  divi- 
sion and  penetration  of  the  superstructure ;  hence  the  lighter  work 
and  richly  pierced  crowns  of  late  Gothic  towers.  The  campanile  of 
Giotto  at  Florence,  already  alluded  to,  is  an  exquisite  instivnce  of  the 
union  of  the  two  principles,  delicate  bas-reliets  adorning  its  massy 
foundation,  while  the  open  tracery  of  the  upper  windows  attracts  the 
eye  by  its  slender  intricacy,  and  a  rich  cornice  cro^vns  the  whole.  In 
such  truly  fine  cases  of  this  disposition  the  uj)per  work  is  effective 
by  its  quantity  and  intricacy  only,  as  the  lower  portions  by  delicacy ; 
so  also  in  the  Tour  de  Beurre  at  Kouon,  where,  however,  the  detfiil 
is  massy  throughout,  subdividing  into  rich  meshes  as  it  ascends.  In 
the  bodies  of  buildings  the  princij>le  is  less  safe,  but  its  discussion  is 
not  connected  witli  our  present  subject. 

XIV.  Finally,  woik  may  be  wasted  by  being  too  good  for  its 
material,  or  too  fine  to  bear  exi)osure  ;  and  this,  generally  a  charac- 
teristic of  late,  especially  of  renaissance,  work,  is  i)erhaps  the  worst 
fault  of  all.  I  do  not  know  anything  more  painful  or  pitiful  than 
the  kind  of  ivory  carving  with  which  the  Certosa  of  Paviti,  and  part 
of  the  Colleone  sepulchral  chapel  at  Bergamo,  and  other  such  build- 
ings, are  incrusted,  of  which  it  is  not  ])Ossible  so  much  as  to  think 
without  exhaustion ;  and  a  heavy  sense  of  the  misery  it  would  be, 
to  be  forced  to  look  at  it  at  all.  And  this  is  not  from  the  quantity  ui 
it,  nor  because  it  is  bad  work — much  of  it  is  inventjve  and  able ; 
but  because  it  looks  as  if  it  were  only  fit  to  be  put  in  inlaid  cabinets 
and  velveted  caskets,  and  as  if  it  could  not  bear  one  drifting  shower 
or  gnawing  fi-ost.  We  are  afraid  for  it,  anxious  about  it,  and  tor- 
mented by  it ;  and  we  feel  that  a  massy  shaft  and  a  bold  shadow 
would  be  worth  it  all.  Nevertheless,  even  in  cases  like  these,  much 
depends  on  the  accomplishment  of  the  great  ends  of  decoration.  If 
the  (jniament  does  its  duty — if  it  is  ornament,  and  its  points  of  shade 
and  light  t<'ll  in  the  general  etlect,  we  shall  not  be  otiended  by  finding 
that  the  scuIj)tor  in  his  fulness  of  fancy  has  chosen  to  give  much 
more  than  these  mere  points  of  light,  and  has  composed  them  of 


THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE.  23 

groups  of  figures.  But  if  the  ornament  does  not  answer  its  purpose, 
if  it  have  no  distant,  no  truly  decorative  power ;  if  generally  seen  it 
be  a  mere  incrustation  and  meaningless  roughness,  we  shall  only  be 
chagTined  by  finding  when  we  look  close,  that  the  incrustation  ha.s 
cost  yeai"s  of  labor,  and  has  millions  of  figures  and  histories  in  it ; 
and  would  be  the  better  of  being  seen  through  a  Stanhope  lens. 
Hence  the  gTeatness  of  the  northern  Gothic  as  contrasted  with  the 
latest  Itahan.  It  reaches  nearly  the  same  extreme  of  detail ;  but  it 
never  loses  sight  of  its  architec-tural  purpose,  never  fails  in  its  deco- 
rative power  ;  not  a  leaflet  in  it  but  speaks,  and  speaks  for  off  too  ; 
and  so  long  as  this  be  the  case,  there  is  no  limit  to  the  luxuriance  in 
which  such  work  may  legitimately  and  nobly  be  bestowed. 

XV.  Xo  limit :  it  is  one  of  the  alfectations  of  architects  to  speak 
of  overcharged  ornament.  Ornament  cannot  be  overcharged  if  it  be 
good,  and  is  always  overcharged  when  it  is  bad.  I  have  given,  on 
the  opposite  page,  (fig.  1.),  one  of  the  smallest  niches  of  the  central 
gate  of  Rouen.  That  gate  I  suppose  to  be  the  most  exquisite  piece 
vi'  pure  flamboyant  work  existing ;  for  though  I  have  spoken  of  the 
iip[)er  portions,  especially  the  receding  window,  as  degenerate,  the 
gate  itself  is  of  a  purer  period,  and  has  hardly  any  renaissance  taint. 
There  are  foiu'  strings  of  these  niches  (each  with  two  figm'es  beneath 
it)  round  the  porch,  fi'om  the  ground  to  the  top  of  the  arch,  with 
three  intermediate  rows  of  larger  niches,  far  more  elaboi'ate  ;  besides 
the  six  principal  canopies  of  each  outer  pier.  The  total  number  of 
the  subordinate  niches  alone,  each  worked  hke  that  in  the  plate,  and 
each  AA-ith  a  chfl'ereut  pattern  of  traceries  in  each  compartment,  is  one 
hundred  and  seventy-six.''  Yet  in  all  this  ornament  there  is  not  one 
cusp,  one  finial,  that  is  useless — not  a  stroke  of  the  chisel  is  in  vain ; 
the  gi'ace  and  luxuriance  of  it  all  are  \-isible — sensible  rather — even 
to  the  uninquiring  eye ;  and  all  its  minuteness  does  not  diminish  the 
majesty,  while  it  increases  the  mystery,  of  the  noble  and  unbroken 
vault.  It  is  not  less  the  boast  of  some  styles  that  they  can  bear 
ornament,  than  of  othei-s  that  they  can  do  without  it ;  but  we  do 
not  often  enough  reflect  that  those  very  styles,  of  so  haughty  sim- 
jilicity,  owe  part  of  their  pleasurableness  to  contrast,  and  would  be 
wearisome  if  imiversal.  They  are  but  the  rests  and  motiotones  of 
the  art ;  it  is  to  its  for  happier,  far  higher,  exaltation  that  we  owe 
those  fair  fronts  of  variegated  mosaic,  charged  with  wild  fancies  and 
dark  hosts  of  imageiy,  thicker  and  quainter  than  ever  filled  the 


24  THE    LAMP    OF    SACRIFICE. 

depth  of  midsummer  dream  ;  those  vaulted  gates,  trellised  with  close 
leaves  ;  those  window-labvrinths  of  twisted  tracerv  and  starrj'  light ; 
those  misty  masses  of  multitudinous  pinnacle  and  diadf^med  tower ; 
the  only  witnesses,  perhaps,  that  remain  to  us  of  the  fiiith  and  fear 
of  nations.  All  else  for  which  the  builders  sacrificed,  has  passed 
away — all  their  living  interests,  and  aims,  and  achievements.  Wq 
know  not  for  what  they  labored,  and  we  see  no  endence  of  their 
reward.  Victory,  wealtli,  authority,  hapjiiness — all  have  departed, 
though  bought  by  many  a  bitter  sacrifice.  But  of  them,  and  their 
life,  and  their  toil  upon  the  earth,  one  reward,  one  endence,  is  left 
to  us  in  those  gray  heaps  of  deep-^\Tought  stone.  They  have  taken 
with  them  to  the  grave  their  powers,  their  honors,  and  their  erroi^s ; 
but  they  have  left  as  their  adoration. 


CHAPTER    II. 


THE  LAMP   OF  TRUTH. 


I.  There  is  a  marked  likeness  between  the  virtue  of  man  and  the 
enlightenment  of  the  globe  he  inhabits — the  same  diminishing  gi-a- 
da'  ion  in  ^•igor  up  to  the  limits  of  their  domains,  the  same  essential 
separation  from  their  contraries — the  same  twilight  at  the  meeting 
of  the  two :  a  something  wider  belt  than  the  line  where  the  world 
rolls  into  night,  that  strange  twilight  of  the  \irtues ;  that  dusky 
debateable  land,  wherein  zeal  becomes  impatience,  and  temperance 
becomes  severity,  and  justice  becomes  cruelty,  and  fjiith  superstition, 
and  each  and  all  vanish  into  gloom. 

Xevertheless,  with  the  gTeater  number  of  them,  though  their 
dimness  increases  gradually,  we  may  mark  the  moment  of  their  sun- 
set ;  and,  happily,  may  turn  the  shadow  back  by  the  way  by  which 
it  had  gone  down :  but  for  one,  the  hue  of  the  hoiizon  is  irregular 
and  undefined ;  and  this,  too,  the  very  equator  and  gudle  of  them 
all — Truth  ;  that  only  one  of  which  there  are  no  degrees,  but  breaks 
and  rents  continually  ;  that  pillar  of  the  earth,  yet  a  cloudy  pillar  ; 
that  golden  and  narrow  line,  which  the  very  powers  and  virtues  that 
lean  upon  it  bend,  which  policy  and  prudence  conceal,  which  kind- 
ness and  courtesy  modify,  which  courage  overshadows  with  his  shield, 
imagination  covers  with  her  wing-s,  and  charity  dims  with  her  teal's. 
How  difficult  must  the  maintenance  of  that  authority  be,  which, 
while  it  has  to  restrain  the  hostihty  of  all  the  worst  principles  of 
man,  has  also  to  restrain  the  disorders  of  his  best — which  is  con- 
tinually assaulted  by  the  one  and  betrayed  by  the  other,  and  which 
regards  with  the  same  severity  the  hghtest  and  the  boldest  \iolations 
of  its  law  !  There  are  some  faults  slight  in  the  sight  of  love,  some 
errors  sUght  in  the  estimate  of  wisdom  ;  but  truth  forgives  no  insult, 
and  endiu-es  no  stain. 

We  do  not  enough  consider  this ;  nor  enough  dread  the  shght 

2 


20  THE    LAMP    OF    XULTH. 

and  continual  occasions  of  oftoiice  aij:aiust  her.  We  are  too  much 
in  tlie  habit  of  looking  at  falsehood  in  its  darkest  associations,  and 
through  the  color  of  its  woi-st  purposes.  That  indignation  which 
we  profess  to  feel  at  deceit  absolute,  is  indeed  only  at  deceit  malicioiis. 
"We  resent  calunin}-,  hypocrisy  and  treachery,  because  they  harm  us, 
not  becaiLse  they  are  untrue.  Talce  the  detraction  and  the  mlscliief 
fi-om  the  untruth,  aiid  we  arc  little  ofiended  by  it;  turn  it  mto 
praise,  and  we  may  be  iilea^ed  with  it.  And  yet  it  is  not  calumny 
nor  treachery  that  does  the  largest  sum  of  mischief  in  the  world  ;  they 
are  continually  crushed,  and  are  felt  only  in  being  conquered.  But 
it  is  the  glistening  and  softly  spoken  lie ;  the  amiable  fallsicy  ;  the 
patriotic  lie  of  the  histonan,  the  provident  lie  of  the  politician,  the 
zealous  he  of  the  partizjm,  the  merciful  lie  of  the  friend,  and  the 
careless  lie  of  each  man  to  himself,  that  cast  that  l>lack  mysterj'  over 
humanity,  through  which  any  man  who  pierces,  we  thank  as  we 
would  tiiank  one  who  dug  a  well  in  a  desei-t ;  happy  in  that  the 
thirst  for  truth  still  remains  with  us,  even  when  we  have  wilfully  left 
the  fountains  of  it. 

It  would  be  well  if  moralists  less  frequently  confused  the  greatness 
of  a  sin  with  its  unpardonableness.  The  two  character  are  altogether 
distinct.  The  gi-eatness  of  a  fault  depends  partly  on  the  nature  of 
the  person  against  whom  it  is  committed,  partly  ui>on  the  extent  of 
its  consequences.  Its  pardonableness  depends,  hiunanly  speaking, 
on  the  degree  of  temptation  to  it.  One  class  of  circumstances  de- 
termines the  weight  of  the  attaching  punishment ;  the  other,  the 
claim  to  remission  of  punishment :  and  since  it  is  not  easy  for  men 
to  estimate  the  relative  weight,  nor  possible  for  them  to  know  the 
relative  consequences,  of  crime,  it  is  usually  wise  in  them  to  quit  the 
care  of  such  nice  mejisurcments,  and  to  look  to  the  other  and  clearer 
condition  of  culpabihty,  esteeming  those  faults  woret  which  are  com- 
mitted under  least  temptation.  I  do  not  mean  to  diminish  the  blame 
of  the  injurious  and  malicious  sin,  of  the  selfi.-h  and  delilx^rate  falsity ; 
yet  it  seems  to  me,  that  the  shortest  way  to  chock  the  darker  forms 
of  deceit  is  to  set  watch  more  scrupulous  against  those  which  have 
mingled,  unregarded  and  unchastised,  with  the  current  of  our  life. 
Do  not  let  us  lie  at  all.  Do  not  think  of  one  falsity  as  harmless,  and 
another  as  slight,  and  another  as  unintended.  Cast  them  all  aside : 
they  may  be  light  and  accidental ;  but  the}'  are  an  ugly  soot  from 
the  smoke  of  the  pit,  for  all  that ;  and  it  is  better  that  our  hearts 


THE    LAMP    OP    TRUTH.  27 

shoiild  be  swept  clean  of  them,  without  over  care  as  to  which  is 
largest  or  blaokest.  Speaking  truth  is  like  writing  fair,  aud  comes  only 
by  practice  ;  it  is  less  a  matter  of  will  than  of  habit,  and  I  doubt  if  any 
occasion  can  be  trinal  which  permits  the  practice  and  formation  of 
such  a  habit.  To  speak  and  act  truth  with  constancy  and  precision 
is  nearly  as  difficidt,  and  perhaps  as  meritorious,  as  to  speak  it  under 
intimidation  or  penalty ;  and  it  is  a  strange  thought  how  many  men 
thei'e  are,  as  I  trust,  who  would  hold  to  it  at  the  cost  of  fortune  or 
life,  for  one  who  would  hold  to  it  at  the  cost  of  a  little  daily  trouble. 
And  seeing  that  of  all  sin  there  is,  perhaps,  no  one  more  flatly  oppo- 
site to  the  Almightv,  no  one  more  "  wanting  the  good  of  Aiitue  and 
of  being,"  than  this  of  lying,  it  is  surely  a  strange  insolence  to  fall 
into  the  foulness  of  it  on  hght  or  on  no  temptation,  and  sm-ely  be- 
coming an  honorable  man  to  resolve  that,  whatever  semblances  or 
foUacies  the  necessary  com-se  of  his  life  may  compel  him  to  bear  or 
to  believe,  none  shall  disturb  the  serenity  of  his  voluntary  actions, 
nor  diminish  the  reality  of  his  chosen  delights. 

II.  If  this  be  just  and  Avise  for  truth's  sake,  much  more  is  it 
necessary  for  the  sake  of  the  dehghts  over  Avhich  she  has  influence. 
For,  as  I  advocated  the  expression  of  the  Spirit  of  Sacrifice  in  the 
acts  and  pleasures  of  men,  not  a**  if  thereby  those  acts  could  further 
the  cau;e  of  religion,  but  because  most  assuredly  they  might  therein 
be  infinitely  ennobled  themselves,  so  I  vroidd  have  the  Spirit  or 
Lamp  of  Truth  clear  in  the  hearts  of  oiu-  artists  aud  handicraftsmen, 
not  as  if  the  trxithftd  practice  of  handicrafts  could  far  advance  the 
cause  of  truth,  but  because  I  would  tlxin  see  the  handicrafts  them- 
selves urged  by  the  spurs  of  chivalry  :  and  it  is,  indeed,  marvellous 
to  see  what  power  and  imiversality  there  is  in  this  single  principle, 
aud  how  in  the  consulting  or  forgetting  of  it  lies  half  the  dignity  or 
decline  of  every  art  and  act  of  man.  I  have  before  endeavored  to 
show  its  range  and  povror  in  painting ;  and  I  believe  a  volume, 
instead  of  a  chapter,  might  be  written  on  its  authority  over  all  that 
is  great  in  architecture.  But  I  must  be  content  with  the  force  of 
instances  few  and  familiar,  bolie\Tng  that  the  occasions  of  its  mani- 
festation may  be  more  easily  discovered  by  a  deske  to  be  true^  than 
embraced  by  an  analysis  of  truth. 

Only  it  is  very  necessary  in  the  outset  to  mark  clearly  wherein 
c  .usists  the  essence  of  fallacy  as  distingviished  from  supposition. 

m.  For  it  might  lie  at  first  thought  that  the  whole  kingdom  of 


28  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

imagination  was  one  of  deception  also.  Not  so:  the  action  of  the 
imagination  is  a  voluntary  summoning  of  the  conceptions  of  things 
absent  or  impossible  ;  and  the  pleasure  and  nobihty  of  the  imagination 
partly  consist  in  its  knowledge  and  contemplation  of  them  as  such, 
i.  e.  in  the  knowk-dge  of  their  actual  al>sence  or  impossibility  at  the 
moment  of  their  apparent  presence  or  reality.  When  the  imagination 
deceives  it  becomes  madness.  It  is  a  noble  faculty  so  long  as  it 
confesses  its  own  ideality  ;  when  it  ceases  to  confess  this,  it  is  insanity. 
All  the  difference  lies  in  the  fact  of  the  confession,  in  there  being  no 
deception.  It  is  necessary  to  our  rank  as  spiritual  creatures,  that  we 
should  be  able  to  uivent  and  to  behold  what  is  not ;  and  to  our  rank 
as  moral  creatures,  that  we  should  know  and  confess  at  the  same 
time  that  it  is  not. 

IV.  Again,  it  might  be  tiiought,  and  has  been  thought,  that  the 
whole  art  of  painting  is  nothing  else  than  an  endeavor  to  deceive. 
Not  so  :  it  is,  on  the  contrary,  a  statement  of  certain  facts,  in  the 
clearest  possible  way.  For  instance  :  I  desire  to  give  an  account  of 
a  mountain  or  of  a  rock  ;  I  begin  by  telling  its  shape.  But  words 
will  not  do  this  distinctly,  and  I  draw  its  shape,  and  say,  "  This  was 
its  shape."  Next :  I  would  fain  rei)resent  its  color  ;  but  words  will 
not  do  this  either,  and  I  dye  the  paper,  and  say,  "  This  was  its  color." 
Such  a  process  may  be  carried  on  until  the  scene  appears  to  exist, 
and  a  high  pleasure  may  be  taken  in  its  apparent  existence.  This 
is  a  communicated  act  of  imagination,  but  no  lie.  The  lie  can 
consist  only  in  an  assertion  of  its  existence  (which  is  never  for  one 
instant  made,  imphed,  or  beheved),  or  else  in  false  stitements  of 
forms  and  colors  (which  are,  indeed,  made  and  believed  to  our  great 
loss,  continually).  And  observe,  also,  that  so  degrading  a  thing  is 
deception  in  even  the  approach  and  appearance  of  it,  that  all  [lainting 
which  even  reaches  the  mark  of  apparent  realization,  is  degraded  in 
60  doing.     I  ha\e  enough  insisted  on  this  point  in  anotlier  place. 

V.  The  violations  of  truth,  which  dishonor  poetry  and  paintinfy, 
are  thus  for  the  most  part  confined  to  the  treatment  of  their  subjects. 
But  in  architecture  another  and  a  less  subtle,  more  contemptible, 
nolation  of  truth  is  possible  ;  a  direct  falsity  of  assertion  respecting 
the  nature  of  material,  or  the  quantity  of  labor.  And  this  is,  in  the 
full  sense  of  tlie  word,  wrong  ;  it  is  as  truly  desernng  of  reprobation 
as  any  other  moral  delinquency  ;  it  is  unworthy  ahke  of  archite  ^ts 
and  of  nations  ;  and  it  has  been  a  sign,  wherever  it  has  widely  anj 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  29 

with  toleration  existed,  of  a  singular  debasement  of  the  arts  ;  that  it 
is  not  a  sign  of  woi-se  than  this,  of  a  general  want  of  severe  probity, 
can  be  accounted  for  only  by  our  knowledge  of  the  strange  separation 
which  has  for  some  centuries  existed  between  the  arts  and  all  other 
subjects  of  human  intellect,  as  matters  of  conscience.  Tliis  withdrawal 
of  conscientiousness  from  among  the  faculties  concerned  ■with  art, 
whUe  it  has  destroyed  the  arts  themselves,  has  also  rendered  in  a 
mciisure  nugatory  tlie  evidence  which  otherwise  they  might  have 
presented  respecting  the  character  of  the  respective  nations  among 
wliom  they  have  been  cultivated ;  otherwise,  it  might  appear  more 
than  strange  that  a  nation  so  distinguished  for  its  general  uprightness 
and  faith  as  the  English,  should  admit  in  their  architecture  more  of 
pretence,  concealment,  and  deceit,  than  any  other  of  this  or  of  past 
time. 

They  are  admitted  in  thoughtlessness,  but  -wdth  fatal  effect  upon 
the  art  in  which  they  are  practised.  If  there  were  no  other  causes 
for  the  failures  which  of  late  have  marked  every  great  occasion  for 
architectural  exertion,  these  petty  dishonesties  would  be  enough  to 
account  for  all.  It  is  the  first  step  and  not  the  least,  towards  greatness 
to  do  away  with  these ;  the  first,  because  so  evidently  and  easily  in 
our  power.  We  may  not  be  able  to  command  good,  or  beautiful, 
or  inventive  architecture  ;  but  we  can  command  an  honest  architecture : 
the  meagreness  of  poverty  may  be  pardoned,  the  sternness  of  utility 
respected  ;  but  what  is  there  but  scorn  for  the  nieanness  of  deception  ? 

VI.  Architectural  Deceits  are  bi'oadly  to  be  considered  under  three 
heads : — 

1st.  The  suggestion  of  a  mode  of  structure  or  support,  other  than 
the  true  one  ;  as  in  pendants  of  late  Gothic  roofs. 

2d.  The  painting  of  surfaces  to  represent  some  other  material  than 
that  of  which  they  actually  consist  (as  in  the  marbling  of  wood),  or 
the  deceptive  representation  of  sculptured  ornament  upon  them. 

3d.  The  use  of  cast  or  machine-made  ornaments  of  any  kind. 

Now,  it  may  be  broadly  stated,  that  architecture  will  be  noble 
exactly  in  the  degree  in  which  all  these  false  expedients  are  avoided. 
Nevertheless,  there  are  certain  degrees  of  them,  which,  owing  to  their 
frequent  usage,  or  to  other  causes,  have  so  far  lost  the  nature  of  deceit 
as  to  be  admissible  ;  as,  for  instance,  gilding,  wliich  is  in  architecture 
no  deceit,  because  it  is  therein  not  undei-stood  for  gold ;  while  in 
jewellery  it  is  a  deceit,  because  it  is  so  underetood,  and  therefore 


30  THE    LAMl'    OF    TRLTU. 

altogether  to  })e  reprcheuded.  So  that  there  arise,  in  the  apphcation 
of  tlie  .strict  rules  of  right,  many  excej)tions  and  niceties  of  conscience  ; 
which  let  as  as  briefly  as  possible  examine. 

^'11.  1st.  Structural  Deceits.  I  have  limited  these  to  the  deter- 
mined and  jiurposed  suggestion  of  a  mode  of  support  other  than  the 
ti'ue  one.  TJie  architect  is  not  bound  to  exhibit  structure ;  nor  are 
we  to  com]ilain  of  him  for  conceahng  it,  any  more  than  we  shuuld 
regret  that  tlie  outer  surfaces  of  the  human  fi-ame  conceal  much  of 
its  anatomy ;  nevertheless,  that  building  will  generally  be  the  noblest, 
which  to  an  intelligent  eye  discovers  the  great  secrets  of  its  structure, 
as  an  annual  form  does,  althuugh  from  a  careless  obsen-er  they  may 
be  concealed.  In  the  vaulting  of  a  Gothic  roof  it  is  no  deceit  to 
throw  the  strength  uito  the  ril«  of  it,  and  make  the  intermeihate 
vault  a  mere  shell.  Such  a  structure  would  be  presumed  by  an 
intelhgent  observer,  the  fii"st  time  he  saw  such  a  roof;  and  the 
beauty  of  its  traceries  would  bo  enhanced  to  hiju  if  they  confe.ssed 
and  foll(.)wed  the  lines  of  its  main  strength.  If,  however,  the  inter- 
mediate shell  were  made  of  wood  instead  of  stone,  and  whitewashed 
to  look  like  the  rest, — this  would,  of  course,  be  direct  deceit,  and 
altogether  mipardonable. 

There  is,  howe^■er,  a  certain  deception  necessarily  occurring  in 
Gothic  architecture,  which  relates,  not  to  the  points,  but  to  the  man- 
ner, of  support.  The  resemblance  in  its  shafts  and  ribs  to  the  external 
relations  of  stems  and  branches,  which  has  been  the  ground  of  so 
much  foolish  sjieculation,  necessarily  induces  in  the  mind  of  the 
spectator  a  sense  or  beli'.'f  of  a  correspondent  internal  structure  ;  that 
is  to  say,  of  a  fibrous  and  continuous  strength  from  the  root  into  the 
limits,  and  an  elasticity  connnunicated  upwards,  sutTicient  for  the 
support  of  the  ramitied  portions.  The  idea  of  the  real  conditions, 
of  a  great  weight  of  eeihng  thrown  upon  certain  narrow,  jointed 
lines,  which  have  a  tendency  partly  to  be  crushed,  and  partly  to 
separate  and  be  jnished  outwards,  is  with  difficulty  received  ;  and 
the  more  so  when  the  ])illars  would  be,  if  unjissistecl,  too  slight  for 
the  weight,  and  are  supported  by  external  fl}"iHg  buttresses,  as  in 
the  apse  of  Beauvais,  and  other  such  achievements  of  the  bolder 
Gothic.  Now,  there  is  a  nice  question  of  conscience  in  this,  which 
we  shall  hardly  settle  but  by  considering  that,  when  the  mind  is 
informed  beyond  the  possibility  of  mistake  as  to  the  true  nature  of 
things,  the  ati'ecting  it  with  a  contrary  impression,  however  distinct, 


THE    LAMf    OF    TRUTH.  31 

is  no  dishonesty,  but  on  the  contrary,  a  legitimate  appeal  to  the 
imagination.  For  instance,  the  greater  part  of  the  happiness  which 
we  have  in  contemplating  clouds,  results  from  the  impression  of 
their  having  massive,  luminous,  warm,  and  mountain-like  surfaces  ; 
and  our  delight  in  the  sky  frequently  depends  upon  our  considering 
it  a.s  a  blue  vaidt.  But  we  know  the  contrary,  in  both  instances ; 
we  know  the  cloud  to  be  a  damp  fog,  or  a  drill  of  snow  flakes  ;  and 
the  sky  to  be  a  lightless  aljyss.  There  is,  therefore,  no  dishonesty, 
while  there  is  much  delight,  in  the  irresistibly  contrary  impression. 
In  the  same  "w^ay,  so  long  as  we  see  the  stones  and  joints,  and  are 
not  deceived  as  to  the  points  of  support  in  any  piece  of  architecture, 
we  may  rather  praise  than  regret  the  dextrous  artifices  which  compel 
us  to  feel  as  if  there  were  libre  in  its  shafts  and  hfe  in  its  branches. 
Nor  is  even  the  concealment  of  tlie  support  of  the  external  buttress 
reprehensible,  so  long  as  the  pillars  are  not  sensibly  inadequate  to 
tlieir  duty.  For  the  weight  of  a  roof  is  a  cii'cunistance  of  which  the 
spectator  generally  has  no  idea,  and  the  provisions  for  it,  conse- 
quently, circ-nmstances  whose  necessity  or  adaptation  he  could  not 
imderstand.  It  is  no  deceit,  therefore,  when  the  weight  to  be  borne 
is  necessaril)-  unknown,  to  conceal  also  the  means  of  bearing  it, 
leaving  only  to  be  perceived  so  much  of  the  support  as  is  indeed 
adequate  to  the  weight  su^jposed.  For  the  shafts  do,  indeed,  bear 
as  much  as  they  are  ever  imagined  to  bear,  and  the  system  of 
added  support  is  no  more,  as  a  matter  of  conscience,  to  be  exhibited, 
than,  in  the  human  or  any  other  form,  mechanical  pronsions  for 
those  functions  which  ai'e  themselves  unperceived. 

But  the  moment  that  the  conditions  of  weight  ai"e  comprehended, 
both  truth  and  feeling  require  that  the  conditions  of  support  should 
be  also  comprehended.  Nothing  can  be  woi^se,  either  as  judged  by 
the  taste  or  the  conscience,  than  affectedly  inadequate  supports — 
suspensions  in  air,  and  other  such  tricks  and  vanities.  Mr.  Hope 
wisely  reprehends,  for  this  reason,  the  arrangement  of  the  mam 
piers  of  St.  Sophia  at  Constantinople.  King's  College  Chapel, 
Cambridge,  is  a  piece  of  architectm-al  juggling,  if  possible  still  more 
to  be  condemned,  because  less  subhme. 

Vin.  With  deceptive  concealments  of  structure  are  to  be  classed, 
though  still  more  blameable,  deceptive  assumptions  of  it — the  in- 
troduction of  members  which  shoidd  have,  or  profess  to  have,  a 
duty,  and  have  none.     One  of  the  most  general  instances  of  this 


32  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

will  he  found  in  the  form  of  the  ^png  buttress  in  late  Gothic.  The 
xise  of  that  member  is,  of  course,  to  convey  support  from  one  pier  to 
another  when  the  plan  of  the  building  renders  it  nec^^ssary  or 
desirable  that  the  supporting  masses  should  be  divided  into  groups  ; 
the  most  frequent  necessity  of  this  kind  arising  from  the  inter- 
mediate range  of  chapels  or  aisles  between  the  nave  or  choir  walls 
and  llieir  suj "porting  jiiere.  The  natural,  healthy,  and  beautiful 
arrangement  is  that  of  a  stcejily  sloping  bar  of  stone,  sustained  by 
an  arch  with  its  spandril  carried  farthest  down  on  the  lowest  side, 
and  dying  into  the  vertical  of  the  outer  pier ;  that  pier  being,  of 
course,  not  square,  but  rather  a  ]>iece  of  wall  set  at  right  angles  to 
the  supported  walls,  and,  if  need  be,  crowned  by  a  jiinnacle  to  give 
it  greater  weight.  The  whole  arrangement  is  exquisitely  carried  out 
in  the  choir  of  Beauvais.  In  later  Gothic  the  pinnacle  became 
gTadually  a  decorati\e  member,  and  was  used  in  all  })laces  merely 
for  the  sake  of  its  beauty.  There  is  no  objection  to  this  ;  it  is  just 
as  lawful  to  build  a  pinnacle  for  its  beauty  as  a  tower ;  but  also  the 
buttress  became  a  decorative  mcmlx-r ;  und  was  used,  fii-st,  where  it 
was  not  wanted,  and,  secondly,  in  forms  in  which  it  could  be  of  no 
use,  becoming  a  mere  tie,  not  between  the  pier  and  wall,  but 
between  the  wall  and  the  top  of  the  decorative  piimacle,  thus 
attaching  itself  to  the  very  point  where  its  thrust,  if  it  made  any, 
could  not  be  resisted.  The  mo<»t  flagrant  instance  of  this  barbarism 
that  I  remember  (though  it  prevails  partially  in  all  the  spires  of  the 
Netherlands),  is  the  lantern  of  St.  Ouen  at  Rouen,  where  the 
j)ierced  buttress,  ha\ing  an  ogee  curve,  looks  about  as  much 
calculated  to  bear  a  thrust  a.s  a  switch  of  willow ;  and  the  pinnacles, 
huge  and  richly  decorated,  have  evidently  no  work  to  do  whatso- 
ever, but  stand  round  the  central  tower,  like  four  idle  servants,  as 
they  are — heraldic  sup]jorters,  that  central  tower  being  merely  a 
liollow  crown,  which  needs  no  more  buttressing  than  a  basket  does. 
In  fact,  I  do  not  know  anj-thing  more  strange  or  unwise  than  the 
praise  lavished  upon  this  lantern  ;  it  is  one  of  the  basest  pieces  of 
Gothic  in  Euroi>e  ;  its  flamboyant  traceries  of  the  last  and  most 
degraded  forms  ;"  and  its  entire  plan  and  decoration  reseinbling,  and 
deserving  little  more  credit  than,  tlie  burnt  sugar  ornaments  of 
elaborate  confectionery.  There  are  hardly  any  of  the  magnificent 
and  serene  constructions  of  the  early  Gothic  which  have  not,  in  the 
course  of  time,  been  giadually  thinned  and  pared   away  into  these 


THE    LAMP    OK    TRUTH.  33 

Bkeletons,  which  sometimes  indeed,  when  their  Hnes  truly  follow  the 
structure  of  the  original  masses,  have  an  interest  like  that  of  the 
fibrous  framework  of  leaves  from  which  the  substance  has  been 
dissolved,  but  which  are  usually  distorted  as  well  as  emaciated,  and 
remain  but  the  sickly  phantoms  and  mockeries  of  things  that  were ; 
they  are  to  true  architi^cture  what  the  Greek  ghost  was  to  the 
armed  and  living  frame ;  and  the  veiy  winds  that  whistle  through 
the  threads  of  them,  are  to  the  diapasoned  echoes  of  the  ancient 
walls,  as  to  the  voice  of  the  man  was  the  pining  of  the  spectre.® 

IX.  Perhaps  the  most  fruitful  som-ce  of  these  kinds  of  corruption 
which  we  have  to  guard  against  in  recent  times,  is  one  wliich, 
nevertheless,  comes  in  a  "  questionable  shape,"  and  of  which  it  is 
not  easy  to  determine  the  proper  laws  and  limits  ;  I  mean  the  use 
of  iron.  The  definition  of  the  art  of  architecture,  given  in  the  first 
chapter,  is  independent  of  its  materials :  nevertheless,  that  art 
having  been,  up  to  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  practised 
for  the  most  part  in  clay,  stone,  or  wood,  it  has  resulted  that  the 
sense  of  proportion  and  the  laws  of  structure  have  been  based,  the 
one  altogether,  the  other  in  great  part,  on  the  necessities  consequent 
on  the  employment  of  those  materials ;  and  that  the  entire  or 
principal  employment  of  metallic  framework  would,  therefore,  be 
generally  felt  as  a  departure  from  the  first  principles  of  the  art. 
Abstractedly  there  appears  no  reason  why  iron  should  not  be  used 
as  well  as  wood  ;  and  the  time  is  probably  near  when  a  new  system 
of  architectural  laws  will  be  developed,  adapted  entirely  to  metaUic 
construction.  But  I  believe  that  the  tendency  of  all  present 
spnpathy  and  association  is  to  limit  the  idea  of  architecture  to  non- 
metalhc  work  ;  and  that  not  without  reason.  For  architecture  being 
in  its  perfection  the  earliest,  as  in  its  elements  it  is  necessarily  the 
first,  of  arts,  wU  always  precede,  in  any  barbarous  nation,  the 
possession  of  the  science  necessary  either  for  the  obtaining  or 
the  management  of  iron.  Its  first  existence  and  its  earliest  laws 
must,  therefore,  depend  upon  the  use  of  materials  accessible  in 
quantity,  and  on  the  sm-face  of  the  earth  ;  that  is  to  say,  clay,  wood, 
or  stone :  and  as  I  think  it  cannot  but  be  generally  felt  that  one  of 
the  chief  dignities  of  architecture  is  its  historical  use ;  and  since  the 
latter  is  partly  dependent  on  consistency  of  style,  it  will  be  felt  right 
to  retain  as  far  as  may  be,  even  in  periods  of  more  advanced  science, 
the  materials  and  principles  of  earlier  ages. 

0* 


34  iUE    l.A.MP    OF    TRITH. 

X.  But  whether  this  V)e  o;)-anted  me  or  not,  the  fact  is,  that  everj' 
idea  res]iecting  size,  projiortion,  tlecoratiou,  or  construction,  on  which 
we  are  at  present  in  the  habit  of  acting  or  judging,  depends  on 
presupposition  of  such  materials  :  and  as  I  both  feel  myself  unable 
to  escape  the  influence  of  these  prejudices,  and  believe  that  my 
readers  will  be  e<jually  so,  it  may  Ix?  perhaps  permitted  to  me  to 
assume  that  true  architecture  does  not  admit  iron  as  a  constructive 
material,'  and  that  such  works  as  the  cast-iron  central  spire  of  Rouen 
Cathedral,  or  the  iron  roofe  and  pillars  of  our  railway  stations,  and 
of  some  of  our  churches,  are  nut  architecture  at  all.  Yet  it  is  cnd^nt 
that  metals  may,  and  sometimes  must,  enter  into  the  construction  to 
a  certain  extent,  as  nails  in  wooden  architecture,  and  therefore  as 
legitimately  ri\ets  and  solderings  in  stone  ;  neither  can  we  well  deny 
to  the  Gothic  architect  the  power  of  supporting  stiitues,  pinnacles,  or 
traceries  l)y  iron  bars  ;  and  if  we  grant  this,  I  do  not  see  how  we  can 
hel]>  allowing  l>runelleselii  his  iron  chain  around  the  dome  of 
Florence,  or  the  builders  of  Salisbury  their  elaborate  iron  bindintr 
of  the  central  tower."  If,  howe>er,  we  would  not  fall  into  the  old 
sophistry  of  the  grains  of  corn  and  the  heap,  we  must  find  a  rule 
which  may  enable  us  to  stop  somewhere.  This  rule  is,  I  think,  that 
metals  may  be  used  as  a  cement  but  not  as  a  supjx)rt.  For  as 
cements  of  other  kinds  are  often  so  strong  that  the  stones  may  easier 
be  broken  than  separated,  and  the  wall  becomes  a  solid  mass  without 
for  that  reason  losing  the  charact^n-  of  architecture,  there  is  no  reason 
why,  when  a  nation  has  obtained  the  knowledge  and  practice  of  iron 
work,  metal  rods  or  rivets  should  not  l)e  used  in  the  ] place  of  cement, 
and  establish  the  same  or  a  greater  strength  and  adherence,  wthout 
in  any  wise  inducing  de])arture  from  the  types  and  system  of  archi- 
tecture before  established ;  nor  does  it  make  any  difference  except 
as  to  sightliness,  whether  the  met:U  bands  or  rods  so  employed,  be  in 
the  body  of  the  wall  or  on  its  exterior,  or  set  Jis  stays  and  cross- 
bands  ;  so  only  that  the  use  of  tliem  be  always  and  distinctly  one 
which  might  be  superseded  by  mere  strength  of  cement ;  as  for 
instimco  if  a  pinnacle  or  mullion  be  propped  or  tied  by  an  iron  band, 
it  is  e\'ident  that  the  iron  only  prevents  the  separation  of  the  stones 
by  lateral  force,  which  the  cement  would  have  done,  had  it  been 
strong  enough.  But  the  moment  that  the  iron  in  the  least  degree 
takes  the  place  of  the  stone,  and  acts  by  its  resistance  to  crushing, 
and  bears  superincuml>ent  weight,  or  if  it  acts  by  its  own  weight  as 


rHIi    LAM  I'    OK     TKUi'H.  35 

a  coiinter})oise,  and  so  supersedes  the  iise  of  pinnacles  or  buttresses 
in  resisting  a  lateral  thrust,  or  if,  in  the  form  of  a  rod  or  girder,  it 
is  used  to  do  what  wooden  beams  would  have  done  as  well,  that 
instant  the  building  ceases,  so  far  as  such  applications  of  metal  extend, 
to  be  true  arcliitecture. 

XL  The  limit,  however,  thus  determined,  is  an  ultimate  one,  and 
it  is  well  in  all  things  to  be  cautious  how  we  approach  the  utmost 
limit  of  lawfulness;  so  that,  although  the  employment  of  metal 
within  this  limit  cannot  be  considered  as  destrojdng  the  very  beino- 
and  nature  of  architecture,  it  Avill,  if  extravagant  and  frequent, 
derogate  fi'om  the  dignity  of  the  work,  as  well  as  (which  is  especially 
to  our  present  point)  from  its  honesty.  For  although  the  spectator 
is  not  informed  as  to  the  quantity  or  strength  of  the  cement 
employed,  he  Anil  generally  conceive  the  stones  of  the  building  to 
be  separable ;  and  his  estimate  of  the  skill  of  the  architect  Avill  be 
based  in  a  great  measiu-e  on  his  supposition  of  this  condition,  and  of 
the  difficulties  attendant  upon  it :  so  tliat  it  is  always  more  honorable, 
and  it  has  a  tendencj'  to  render  the  style  of  architecture  both  more 
mascuUne  and  more  scientiiic,  to  employ  stone  and  mortar  simply  as 
such,  and  to  do  as  much  as  possible  \nth  the  weight  of  the  one  and 
the  strength  of  the  other,  and  rather  sometimes  to  forego  a  grace,  or 
to  confess  a  weakness,  than  attain  the  one,  or  conceal  the  other,  by 
means  verging  upon  dishonesty. 

Nevertheless,  where  the  design  is  of  such  delicacy  and  slightness 
as,  in  some  parts  of  very  fair  and  fuiished  edifices,  it  is  desirable  that 
it  should  be ;  and  where  both  its  completion  and  security  are  in  a 
measure  dependent  on  the  use  of  metal,  let  not  such  use  be  repre- 
hended ;  so  only  that  as  much  is  done  as  may  be,  by  good  mortar 
and  good  masonry ;  and  no  slovenly  workmanship  admitted 
through  confidence  in  the  iron  helps ;  for  it  is  in  this  license  as  in 
that  of  wine,  a  man  may  use  it  for  his  infirmities,  but  not  for  his 
nourishment. 

XII.  And,  in  order  to  avoid  an  over  use  of  this  liberty,  it  would 
be  well  to  consider  what  appHcation  may  be  conveniently  made  of 
the  dovetailing  and  various  adjusting  of  stones  ;  for  when  any  artifice 
is  necessary  to  help  the  mortar,  certainly  this  ought  to  come  before 
the  use  of  metal,  for  it  is  both  safer  and  more  honest.  I  cannot  see 
that  any  objection  can  be  made  to  the  fitting  of  the  stones  in  any 
shapes  the  architect  pleases ;  for  although  it  would  not  be  desirable 


36  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

to  see  buildings  put  together  like  Chinese  puzzles,  there  must  ahvavs 
be  a  check  upon  such  an  abuse  of  the  practice  in  its  difficulty ;  nor 
is  it  necessary  that  it  should  be  always  exhibited,  so  that  it  be  under- 
stood by  the  spectator  as  an  admitted  help,  and  that  no  principal  stones 
are  introduced  in  positions  apparently  impossible  for  them  to  retain, 
although  a  riddle  here  and  there,  in  unimportant  features,  may  some- 
times serve  to  draw  the  eye  to  the  masonry,  and  make  it  interesting, 
as  well  as  to  give  a  delightful  sease  of  a  kind  of  necromantic  power 
in  the  architect.  There  is  a  pretty  one  in  the  lintel  of  the  lateral 
door  of  the  cathedral  of  Prato  (Plate  IV.  fig.  4.)  ;  where  the  main- 
tenance of  the  visibly  separate  stones,  alteniate  marbb  and 
serpentine,  cannot  be  understood  until  their  cross-cutting  is  seen 
below.     Each  block  is,  of  course,  of  the  form  given  in  fig.  5. 

XIII.  Lastly,  before  leanng  the  subject  of  structural  deceit*,  I 
■would  remind  the  architect  who  thinks  that  I  am  unnecessarily  and 
narrowly  limiting  his  resources  or  his  art,  that  the  highest  greatness 
and  the  highest  wisdom  are  shown,  the  first  by  a  noble  submission 
to,  the  second  by  a  thoughtful  pro\ndence  for,  certain  voluntiirilv 
admitted  restraints.  Nothing  is  more  c\-ident  than  this,  in  that 
supreme  government  which  is  the  example,  as  it  is  the  centre  of  all 
others.  The  Divine  Wisdom  is,  and  can  be,  shown  to  us  onlv  in  its 
meeting  and  contending  with  the  ditficulties  which  are  voluntarily, 
and  for  the  sake  of  that  contest,  admitted  by  the  Disine  Omnipotence  : 
and  these  difficulties,  observe,  occur  in  the  form  of  natural  laws  or 
ordinances,  which  might,  at  many  times  and  in  countless  ways,  be 
infringed  with  apparent  advantage,  but  which  are  never  infringed, 
whatever  costly  aiTangements  or  adaptations  their  observance  may 
necessitate  for  the  accomplishment  of  gnven  purposes.  The  example 
most  apposite  to  our  present  subject  is  the  structure  of  the  bones  of 
animals.  No  reason  can  be  given,  I  believe,  why  the  system  of  the 
higher  animals  should  not  have  been  made  capable,  as  that  of  the 
Infusoria  is,  of  s-jcreting  Hint,  instead  of  phosphate  of  lime,  or  more 
naturally  still,  carbon ;  so  framing  the  bones  of  adamant  at  once. 
The  elephant  or  rhinoceros,  had  the  earthy  part  of  their  bones  been 
made  of  diamond,  might  have  been  as  agile  and  light  as  grasshoppers, 
and  other  animals  might  have  been  framed  far  more  magnificently 
colossal  than  any  that  walk  the  earth.  In  other  worlds  wo  may, 
perhaps,  see  such  creations ;  a  creation  for  every  element,  and 
elements  infinite.     But  the  architecture  of  animals  here,  is  appointed 


THB    tAMP    OF    TRUTH,  3? 

by  God  to  l>e  a  marble  arcbitecture,  not  a  flint  nor  adaman«,  archi- 
tecture ;  and  all  manner  of  expedients  are  adopted  to  attain  the 
utmost  degree  of  strength  and  size  possible  under  that  great  limitation. 
The  jaw  of  the  ichthyosaurus  is  pieced  and  riveted,  the  leg  of  the 
megatherium  is  a  foot  thick,  and  the  head  of  the  myodon  has  a 
double  skull ;  we,  in  our  wisdom,  should,  doubtless,  have  given  the 
lizard  a  steel  jaw,  and  the  myodon  a  cast-iron  headpiece,  and  forgotten 
the  great  principle  to  which  all  creation  bears  witness,  that  order 
and  system  are  nobler  things  than  power.  But  God  shows  us  in 
Himself,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  not  only  authoritative  perfection, 
but  even  the  perfection  of  Obedience — an  o1>edience  to  His  own 
laws :  and  in  the  cumbrous  movement  of  those  unwieldiest  of  His 
creatures  we  are  reminded,  even  in  His  divine  essence,  of  that  attri- 
bute of  uprightness  in  the  human  creature  "that  swearetli  to  his 
own  hurt  and  changoth  not." 

XIV.  2nd.  Surface  Deceits.  Those  inay  l-e  generally  defined  as 
the  inducing  the  supposition  of  some  form  or  material  which  does 
not  actually  exist;  as  commonly  in  the  painting  of  wood  to 
represent  marbfe,  or  in  the  jiainting  of  ornaments  in  deceptive 
reUef,  (fcc.  But  v/e  must  be  careful  to  observe,  that  the  evil  of  them 
consists  always  in  definitely  attempted  deception,  and  that  it  is  a  matter 
of  some  nicety  to  mark  the  |)oint  where  deception  beg-ius  or  ends. 

Thus,  for  instance,  the  roof  of  Milan  Cathedral  is  seemingly 
covered  with  elaborate  fan  tracery,  forcibly  enough  painted  to  enable 
it,  in  its  dark  and  removed  position,  to  deceive  a  careless  observer. 
This  is,  of  course,  gross  degradation  ;  it  destroys  much  of  the  dignity 
even  of  the  rest  of  the  building,  and  Ls  in  the  veiy  strongest  terms 
to  be  reprehended. 

The  roof  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  has  much  architectural  design  in 
grissaille  mingled  with  the  figures  of  its  frescoes ;  and  the  effect  is 
increase  of  dignity. 

In  what  lies  the  distinctive  character  ? 

In  two  points,  principally  : — Fii-st.  That  the  architecture  is  so 
closely  associated  \y\\X\  the  figures,  and  has  so  grand  fellowship  with 
them  in  its  forms  and  cast  shadows,  that  both  are  at  once  felt  to  be 
of  a  piece  ;  and  as  the  figures  must  necessarily  be  painted,  the  archi- 
tecture is  known  to  be  so  too.     There  is  thus  no  deception. 

Second.  That  so  gTeat  a  painter  as  Michael  Angelo  would  always 
stop  short  in  such  minor  parte  of  his  design,  of  the  degree  of  \'ulgar 


SB  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

force  which  would  be  necessary  to  induce  the  supposition  of  their 
reahty  ;  and,  strangely  as  it  may  sound,  would  never  paint  badly 
enough  to  deceive. 

But  though  right  and  wrong  are  thus  found  broadly  opposed  in 
works  severally  so  mean  and  so  mighty  as  the  roof  of  Milan  and  that 
of  the  Sistine,  there  are  works  neither  so  great  nor  so  mean,  in  which 
the  limits  of  right  are  vaguely  defined,  and  will  need  some  care  to 
determuie  ;  care  only,  however,  to  apply  accurately  the  broad  prin- 
ciple with  which  we  set  out,  that  no  form  nor  matenal  is  to  be 
deceptively  re])resented. 

XV.  E\ideutly,  then,  painting,  confessedly  such,  is  no  deception  : 
it  does  not  assert  any  matenal  whatever.  Whether  it  be  on  wood 
or  on  stone,  or,  as  will  naturally  be  supposed,  on  plaster,  does  not 
matter.  Whatever  the  material,  good  painting  makes  it  more 
precious  ;  nor  can  it  e\er  be  said  to  deceive  respecting  the  ground 
of  which  it  gives  us  no  information.  To  cover  brick  with  plaster, 
and  this  plaster  with  fresco,  is,  therefore  perfectly  legitimate  ;  and  as 
desirable  a  mode  of  decoration,  as  it  is  constant  in  the  gr^at  periods. 
Verona  and  Venice  are  now  seen  di-prived  t)f  more  than' half  their  former 
splendi,»r  ;  it  depended  far  more  on  their  frescoes  than  their  marbles. 
'Jhe  plaster,  in  this  case,  is  to  be  considered  as  the  gesso  ground  on 
jianel  or  canvjiss.  But  to  cover  brick  with  cement,  and  to  divide 
this  cement  with  joints  that  it  may  look  like  stone,  is  to  tell  a  false- 
hood ;  and  is  just  as  contemptible  a  procedure  as  the  other  is  noble. 

It  being  lawlul  to  ]>aint  then,  is  it  lawful  to  paint  ever^-thing  ?  So 
long  as  the  painting  is  confessed — yes;  but  if,  even  in  the  slightest 
degree,  the  sense  of  it  be  lost,  and  the  tiling  painted  be  supposed 
real — no.  Let  us  take  a  few  instances.  In  the  Campo  Santo  at 
Pisa,  each  fresco  is  surrounded  with  a  border  composed  of  flat 
colored  patterns  of  great  elegance — no  part  of  it  m  att<Miipted  relief. 
The  certainty  of  flat  surface  being  thu?;  secured,  the  figures,  though 
the  size  of  life,  do  not  deceive,  and  the  artist  thenceforward  is  at 
liberty  to  put  forth  his  whole  power,  and  to  lead  us  through  fields, 
and  groves,  and  deptlis  of  ])leasant  landscape,  and  to  soothe  us  with 
the  sweet  clearness  of  far  off"  .sky,  and  yet  never  lose  the  severity  of 
his  primal  purpose  of  architectural  decoration. 

In  the  Camera  di  Correggio  of  San  LodoN-ico  at  Parma,  the 
trellises  of  vine  shadow  the  walls,  as  if  with  an  actual  arbor ;  and 
tlie  troops  of  children,  peepinsf  through   the  oval  openings,  luscious 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  39 

in  color  aiid  taint  iu  light,  may  well  be  expected  every  instant  to  break 
through,  or  hide  behind  the  covert.  The  grace  of  then'  attitudes, 
and  the  e\'ident  greatness  of  the  whole  work,  mark  that  it  is  painting, 
and  barely  redeem  it  fi-om  the  charge  of  falsehood ;  but  even  so 
saved,  it  is  utterly  unworthy  to  take  a  place  among  noble  or  legiti- 
mate architectural  decoration. 

In  the  cupola  of  the  duomo  of  Parma  the  same  painter  has  repre- 
sented the  Assumption  with  so  much  dece})tive  power,  that  he  has 
made  a  dome  of  some  thirty  feet  diameter  look  hke  a  cloud-wrapt 
opening  in  the  seventh  heaven,  crowded  with  a  rushing  sea  of  angels. 
Is  this  wi-oug  ?  Not  so  :  for  the  subject  at  once  precludes  the  possi- 
bihty  of  deception.  "We  might  have  taken  the  vines  for  a  veritable 
pergoda,  and  the  children  for  its  haimtiug  ragazzi ;  but  we  know  the 
stayed  clouds  and  moveless  angels  must  be  man's  work  ;  let  him  put 
his  utmost  strength  to  it  and  welcome,  he  can  enchant  us,  but  cannot 
betray. 

We  may  thus  apply  the  rule  to  the  highest,  as  well  as  the  art  of 
daily  occurrence,  always  remembering  that  more  is  to  be  forgiven  to 
the  great  painter  than  to  the  mere  decorati\e  workman  ;  and  tliis 
especialh^,  because  the  former,  even  in  deceptive  portions,  will  not 
trick  us  so  grossly ;  as  we  have  just  seen  in  Correggio,  where  a 
worse  painter  would  have  made  the  thing  look  like  life  at  once. 
There  is,  however,  in  room,  villa,  or  garden  decoration,  some  fitting 
admission  of  trickeries  of  this  kind,  as  of  pictured  landscapes  at  the 
extremities  of  alleys  and  arcades,  and  ceilings  hke  skies,  or  painted 
mth  prolongations  upAvards  of  the  architecture  of  the  walls,  which 
thing's  have  sometimes  a  certain  luxury  and  pleasureableness  in  places 
meant  for  idleness,  and  are  innocent  enough  as  long  as  they  are 
regarded  as  mere  toys. 

XVI.  Touching  the  false  representation  of  material,  the  question 
is  infinitely  more  simple,  and  the  law  more  sweeping  ;  all  such  imi- 
tations are  utterly  base  and  inadmissible.  It  is  melancholy  to  think 
of  the  time  and  expense  lost  in  marbling  the  sho})  fronts  of  London 
alone,  and  of  the  waste  of  our  resources  in  absolute  vanities,  in 
things  about  wdiich  no  mortal  cares,  by  which  no  eye  is  ever  arrested, 
unless  painfully,  and  which  do  not  add  one  whit  to  comfort,  or 
cleanliness,  or  even  to  that  great  object  of  commercial  art — conspi- 
cuousness.  But  in  architecture  of  a  higher  rank,  how  much  more  is 
it  to  be  condemned  ?     I  have  made  it  a  rule  in  the  present  work  not 


40  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

to  blame  specificxilly  ;  but  I  may,  perhaps,  be  permitted,  while  I 
express  my  sincere  admiration  of  the  very  noble  entrance  and  general 
architecture  of  the  British  Museum,  to  express  also  my  regret  that 
the  noble  granite  foundation  of'the  staircase  should  be  mocked  at 
its  landing  by  an  imitation,  the  more  blameable  because  tolerably 
successful.  The  only  effect  of  it  is  to  cast  a  suspicion  upon  the  true 
stones  below,  and  upon  every  bit  of  granite  afterwards  encountered. 
One  feels  a  doubt,  after  it,  of  the  honesty  of  Memnon  himself.  But 
even  this,  however  derogatory  to  the  noble  architecture  around  it,  is 
less  painful  than  the  want  of  feeling  with  which,  in  our  cheap  modern 
churches,  we  suffer  the  wall  decorator  to  erect  about  the  altar  frame- 
works and  pediments  daubed  with  mottled  color,  and  to  dye  in  the 
same  fashions  such  skeletons  or  caricatures  of  columns  as  may 
emerge  above  the  pews  ;  this  is  not  merely  bad  taste  ;  it  is  no  unim- 
portant or  excusable  error  which  brings  e\cn  these  shadows  of  vanity 
and  falsehood  into  the  house  of  prayer.  The  first  condition  which 
just  feeling  requires  in  church  furniture  is,  that  it  should  be  simple 
and  unaffected,  not  fictitious  nor  tawdry.  It  may  be  in  our  power 
to  make  it  beautiful,  but  let  it  at  least  be  pure ;  and  if  we  cannot 
permit  much  to  the  architect,  do  not  let  us  permit  anything  to  the 
upholsterer ;  if  we  keep  to  solid  stone  and  solid  wood,  whitewashed, 
if  we  like,  for  cleanliness'  sake  (for  whitewash  has  so  often  been  used 
as  the  dress  of  noble  things  that  it  has  thence  received  a  kind  of 
nobility  itself),  it  miLst  be  a  bad  design  indeed,  which  is  gi'ossly 
offensive.  I  recollect  no  instance  of  a  want  of  sacred  character,  or 
of  any  marked  and  painful  ugliness,  in  the  simplest  or  the  most 
awkwardly  built  village  church,  where  stone  and  wood  were  roughly 
and  nakedly  used,  and  the  windows  latticed  with  white  glass.  But 
the  smoothly  stuccoed  walls,  the  flat  roofs  with  ventilator  ornaments, 
the  barred  windows  mth  jaundiced  Iwrders  and  dead  ground  square 
panes,  the  gilded  or  bronzed  wood,  the  painted  iron,  the  wretched 
upholstery  of  curtains  and  cushions,  and  pew  head.s  and  altar  railings, 
and  Birmingham  metal  candlesticks,  and,  above  all,  the  green  and 
yellow  sickness  of  the  false  marble — disguises  all,  ol>serve  ;  falsehoods 
all — who  are  they  who  like  these  things  ?  who  defend  them  ?  who  do 
them  ?  I  have  never  spoken  to  any  one  who  did  like  them,  though 
to  many  who  thought  them  matters  of  no  consequence.  Perhaps 
not  to  religion  (thoxigh  I  cannot  but  believe  that  there  are  many  to 
whom,  as  to  myself^  such  things  are  serious  obstacles  to  the  repose 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  41 

of  mind  and  temper  which  should  precede  devotional  exercises) ;  but 
to  the  general  tone  of  our  judgment  and  feeling — yes  ;  for  assuredly 
■\ve  shall  regard,  with  tolerance,  if  not  with  affection,  whatever  forms 
of  material  thing-s  we  have  been  in  the  habit  of  associating  with  our 
worship,  and  be  little  prepared  to  detect  or  blame  hypocrisy,  mean- 
ness, and  disguise  in  other  kinds  of  decoration,  when  we  sutler 
objects  belonging  to  the  most  solemn  of  all  services  lo  be  tricked  out 
in  a  fashion  so  fictitious  and  unseemly. 

XVII.  Painting,  however,  is  not  the  only  mode  in  which  material 
may  be  concealed,  or  rather  simulated  ;  for  merely  to  conceal  is,  as 
we  have  seen,  no  wrong.  Whitewash,  for  instance,  though  often  (by 
no  means  always)  to  be  regretted  as  a  concealment,  is  not  to  be 
blamed  as  a  falsity.  It  shows  itself  for  what  it  is,  and  asserts 
nothing  of  what  is  beneath  it.  Gilding  has  become,  from  its  fre- 
quent use,  equally  innocent.  It  is  underetood  for  what  it  is,  a  film 
merely,  and  is,  therefore,  allowable  to  any  extent.  I  do  not  say 
expedient :  it  is  one  of  the  most  abused  means  of  magnificence  we 
possess,  and  I  much  doubt  whether  any  use  we  ever  make  of  it, 
balances  that  loss  of  pleasure,  which,  from  the  frequent  sight  and 
jierpetual  suspicion  of  it,  we  suffer  in  the  contemplation  of  anythinrc 
that  is  \-erily  of  gold.  I  think  gold  was  meant  to  be  seldom  seen, 
and  to  be  admired  as  a  precious  thing  ;  and  I  sometimes  ■\^•ish  that 
truth  should  so  far  literally  prevail  as  that  all  should  be  gold  that 
glittered,  or  rather  tliat  nothing  should  glitter  that  was  not  gold. 
Nevertheless,  nature  hei'self  does  not  dispense  with  such  semblance, 
but  uses  hght  for  it ;  and  I  have  too  great  a  love  for  old  and  saintly 
art  to  part  Avith  its  burnished  field,  or  radiant  nimbus ;  only  it  should 
be  used  with  respect,  and  to  express  magnificence,  or  sacredness,  and 
not  in  lavish  vanity,  or  in  sign  painting.  Of  its  expedience,  howe\  er, 
any  more  than  of  that  of  color,  it  is  not  here  the  place  to  speak  ;  we 
are  endeavoring  to  determine  what  is  lawful,  not  what  is  desirable. 
Of  other  and  less  common  modes  of  disguising  surface,  as  of  powder 
of  lapis  lazuli,  or  mosaic  imitations  of  colored  stones,  I  need  hardly 
ppeak.  The  rule  will  apply  to  all  alike,  that  whate\er  is  pretended, 
is  \\Tong ;  commonly  enforced  also  by  the  exceeding  ugliness  and 
insufficient  appearance  of  such  methods,  as  lately  in  the  style  of  reno- 
vation by  which  half  the  hoases  in  Venice  have  been  defaced,  the 
brick  covered  first  with  stucco,  and  .this  painted  with  zigzag  veins 
in  imitation  of  alabaster.     But  there  is  one  more  form  of  architec- 


42  lllJi    LAMP    OK    TKUTIl. 

tural  tiction,  wliioli  is  so  constant  in  tlie  great  periods  that  it  needs 
respectful  judgment.     I  mean  the  lacing  of  brick  with  precious  stone. 

XVIII.  It  is  well  known,  that  what  is  meant  by  a  church's  being 
built  of  marble  is,  in  nearly  all  cases,  only  that  a  veneering  of  marble 
lias  been  fastened  on  the  rough  brick  wall,  l)uilt  with  certain  projec- 
tions to  receive  it ;  and  that  what  appear  to  be  massy  stones,  are 
nothing  more  than  external  slabs. 

Now,  it  is  evident,  that,  in  this  case,  the  question  of  right  is  on 
the  same  gi'oimd  as  in  that  of  gilding.  If  it  be  clearly  understood 
that  a  marble  facing  does  not  pretend  or  imply  a  marble  wall,  there 
is  no  harm  in  it ;  and  as  it  is  also  evident  that,  when  very  precious 
stones  are  used,  as  jaspers  and  serpentines,  it  must  become,  not  only 
an  extravagant  and  vaiii  increase  of  expense,  but  sometimes  an  actual 
impossibihty,  to  obtiiin  mass  of  tliem  enough  to  build  with,  there  is 
no  resource  but  this  of  veneering ;  nor  is  there  anything  to  be  alleged 
against  it  on  the  head  of  durability,  such  work  having  been  by  expe- 
rience foimd  to  last  as  long,  and  in  as  perfect  condition,  as  any  kind 
of  masonry.  It  is,  therefore,  to  be  considered  as  simjily  an  art  of 
mosaic  on  a  large  scale,  the  ground  being  of  brick,  or  any  other 
material ;  and  when  lovely  stoJies  are  to  be  obtained,  it  is  a  manner 
which  should  be  thoroughly  undei-stood,  and  often  practised.  Never- 
theless, as  we  esteem  the  shaft  of  a  colunm  more  highly  for  its  being 
oi  a  single  block,  and  as  we  do  not  regret  the  loss  of  substance  and 
value  which  there  is  in  things  of  solid  gold,  silver,  agate,  or  ivory ; 
so  I  think  that  walls  themselves  may  be  regarded  \nth  a  more  just 
complacency  if  they  are  known  to  be  all  of  noble  substance ;  and 
that  rightly  weighing  the  demands  of  the  two  principles  of  which  Me 
have  liitherto  spoken — Sacritice  and  Truth,  we  should  sometimes 
rather  spare  external  ornament  than  diminish  the  unseen  value  and 
consistency  of  what  we  do ;  and  I  believe  that  a  better  manner  of 
design,  and  a  moi-e  careful  and  studious,  if  less  abundant  decoration 
would  follow,  uj)on  the  consciousness  of  thoroughness  in  the  substance. 
And,  indeed,  this  Is  to  be  remembered,  with  resju-ct  to  all  the  points 
we  have  examined  ;  that  while  we  have  traced  the  limits  of  license, 
we  have  not  fixed  those  of  that  high  rectitude  which  refuses  license. 
It  is  thus  true  that  there  is  no  falsity,  and  much  beauty  in  the  use 
of  external  color,  and  that  it  is  lawful  to  paint  either  jiictures  or 
patterns  on  what<'vcr  surfaces  lyay  seem  to  need  enrichment.  But 
it  is  not  less  true,  that  such  practices  are  essentially  unarchitectural ; 


« 


THE    LAMP    OF    TKLTII.  43 

and  while  we  cannot  say  that  there  is  actual  daug-er  in  aia  over  use 
of  them,  seeing  that  they  have  been  always  used  most  lavishly  in  the 
times  of  most  noble  art,  yet  they  divide  the  work  into  two  parts  and 
kinds,  one  of  less  durability  than  the  otlier,  which  dies  away  from  it 
in  process  of  ages,  and  leaves  it,  unless  it  have  noble  qualities  of  its 
own,  naked  and  bare.  That  enduring  noblesse  I  should,  thei'eio. . , 
call  truly  architectural ;  and  it  is  not  until  this  has  been  secured, 
that  the  accessory  power  of  painting  may  be  called  in,  for  the  delight 
of  the  immediate  time;  nor  this,  as  I  think,  until  every  resource  of 
a  more  stable  kind  has  been  exhausted.  The  true  colors  of  arelii- 
tecture  are  those  of  natural  stone,  and  I  would  fain  see  these  taken 
advantage  of  to  the  full.  E^•ery  variety  of  hue,  from  pale  yellow  to 
purjile,  parsing  through  oi'ange,  red,  and  brown,  is  enthely  at  our 
command  ;  nearly  ever}^  kind  of  green  and  gray  is  also  attainable  : 
and  with  these,  and  pure  white,  what  harmonies  might  we  not 
achieve  ?  Of  stained  and  vayegated  stone,  the  quantit}*  is  unlimited, 
the  kinds  innumerable  ;  where  brighter  colors  are  required,  let  glass, 
and  gold  protected  by  glass,  be  used  in  mosaic — a  kmd  of  work  as 
durable  as  the  solid  stone,  and  incapable  of  losing  its  lustre  by  time 
— and  let  the  painter's  work  be  reserved  for  the  shadowed  loggia 
and  inner  chamber.  This  is  the  true  and  faithful  Avay  of  building  ; 
where  this  cannot  be,  the  device  of  external  coloring  may,  indeed,  be 
employed  Avithout  dishonor  ;  but  it  must  be  \\ith  the  warning  reflec- 
tion, that  a  time  will  come  when  such  aids  must  pass  away,  and 
when  the  building  will  be  jxidged  in  its  hfelessness,  d}ing  the  death 
of  the  dolphin.  Better  the  less  bright,  more  enduring  fabric.  The 
transparent  alabasters  of  San  ^liniato,  and  the  mosaics  of  St.  Mark's, 
are  more  warmly  filled,  and  more  brightly  touched,  by  every  retm-n 
of  morning  and  evening  rays  ;  while  the  hues  of  our  cathedrals  have 
died  like  the  iris  out  of  the  cloud ;  and  the  temples  whose  azure  and 
purple  once  flamed  above  the  Grecian  promontories,  stand  in  their 
faded  whiteness,  like  snows  which  the  sunset  has  left  cold. 

XIX.  The  last  form  of  fallacy  which  it  will  be  remembered  we 
had  to  deprecate,  was  the  substitution  of  cast  or  machine  work  for 
that  of  the  hand,  generally  expressible  as  Operative  Deceit. 

There  are  two  reasons,  both  weighty,  against  this  practice  :  one, 
that  all  cast  and  machine  work  is  bad,  as  work  ;  the  other,  that  it  is 
dishonest.  Of  its  badness,  I  shall  speak  in  another  place,  that  being 
eAidently  no  efficient  reason  against  its  use  when  other  cannot  be 


44  THE    LAMP    OF     TRUTH. 

had.  Its  dishonesty,  however,  wliioh,  to  my  mind,  is  of  the  grossest 
kind,  is,  I  think,  a  sufficient  reason  to  determine  absolute  and 
unconditional  rejection  of  it. 

Ornament,  as  I  liave  often  before  observed,  has  two  entirely 
distinct  sources  of  agreeableness  :  one,  that  of  the  abstract  beauty 
of  its  forms,  which,  for  the  present,  we  will  su])pose  to  be  the  same 
■wliether  they  come  from  the  hand  or  the  machine ;  the  other,  the 
sense  of  human  labor  and  care  spent  upon  it.  ILjw  great  this  latter 
influence  we  may  perhaps  judge,  by  considering  that  there  is  not  a 
cluster  of  weeds  gromng  in  any  cranny  of  ruin  which  has  not  a 
beauty  in  all  respects  nearly  equal,  and,  in  some,  immejisurably 
superior,  to  that  of  the  most  elaborate  sculpture  of  its  stones  :  and 
that  all  our  interest  in  the  carved  work,  our  sense  of  its  richness, 
though  it  is  tenfold  less  rich  than  the  knots  of  grass  beside  it ;  of  its 
delicacy,  though  it  is  a  thousandfold  less  delicate  ;  of  its  admirable- 
ness,  though  a  millionfuld  less  admirable  ;  results  from  our 
consciousness  of  its  being  the  work  of  poor,  clumsy,  toilsome  man. 
Its  true  delightfulness  depends  on  our  discovering  in  it  the  record 
of  thoughts,  and  intents,  and  trials,  and  heart-breakings — of 
recoveries  and  joyfulnesses  of  success :  all  this  can  be  traced  by  a 
practised  eye ;  but,  granting  it  even  obscure,  it  is  presumed  or 
undei"stood ;  and  in  that  is  the  worth  of  the  thing,  just  as  much  as 
the  worth  of  anything  else  we  call  })recious.  The  worth  of  a 
diamond  is  simply  the  understanding  of  the  time  it  must  take  to 
look  for  it  before  it  is  found  ;  and  the  worth  of  an  ornament  is  the 
time  it  must  take  before  it  can  be  cut.  It  has  an  intrinsic  value 
besides,  which  the  diamond  has  not  (for  a  diamond  has  no  more 
real  beauty  than  a  piece  of  glass) ;  but  I  do  not  speak  of  that  at 
present ;  I  place  the  two  on  the  same  ground ;  and  I  suppose  that 
hand-wrought  ornament  can  no  more  l)e  generally  known  from 
machine  work,  than  a  diamond  can  be  known  from  paste ;  n.ay,  that 
the  latter  may  deceive,  for  a  moment,  the  mason's,  as  the  other  the 
jeweller's,  eye ;  and  that  it  can  be  detected  only  by  the  closest 
examination.  Yet  exactly  as  a  woman  of  feeling  would  not  wear 
false  jewels,  so  would  a  builder  of  honor  disdain  false  ornaments. 
The  using  of  them  is  just  as  downright  and  inexcusable  a  lie.  You 
use  that  which  pretends  to  a  worth  which  it  has  not ;  which  pretends 
to  have  cost,  and  to  be,  what  it  did  not,  and  is  not ;  it  is  an 
imposition,  a  vulganty,  an   impertinence,  and   a  sin.     Down  with  it 


THE    LAMP    OK    TRUTH.  46 

to  the  ground,  grind  it  to  powder,  leave  its  ragged  place  upon  the 
wall,  rather ;  you  have  not  paid  for  it,  you  have  no  business  wth 
it,  you  do  not  want  it.  Nobody  wants  ornaments  in  this  world,  but 
everybody  wants  integrity.  All  the  fair  devices  that  ever  were 
fancied,  are  not  worth  a  lie.  Leave  j^our  walls  as  bare  as  a  planed 
board,  or  build  them  of  baked  mud  and  chopped  straw,  if  need  be  ; 
but  do  not  rough-cast  them  with  falsehood. 

This,  then,  being  our  general  law,  and  I  hold  it  for  a  more 
imperative  one  than  any  other  I  have  asserted ;  and  this  kind  of 
dishonesty  the  meanest,  us  the  least  necessary  ;  for  ornament  is  an 
extravagant  and  inessential  thing  ;  and,  therefore,  if  fallacious, 
utterly  base — this,  I  say,  being  our  general  law,  there  are, 
nevertheless,  certain  exceptions  respecting  particular  substances  and 
their  uses. 

XX.  Thus  in  the  use  of  brick  :  since  that  is  known  to  be  originally 
moulded,  there  is  no  reason  why  it  should  not  be  moulded  into 
diverse  forms.  It  will  never  be  supposed  to  have  been  cut,  and, 
therefore,  Avill  cause  no  deception ;  it  will  have  only  the  credit  it 
deserves.  In  flat  countries,  far  from  any  quarry  of  stone,  cast  brick 
mav  be  legitimately,  and  most  successfully,  used  in  decoration,  and 
that  elaborate,  and  even  refined.  The  brick  mouldings  of  the 
Palazzo  Pepoli  at  Bologna,  and  those  which  run  round  the  market- 
place of  Vercelli,  are  among  the  richest  in  Italy.  So  also,  tile  and 
porcelain  work,  of  which  the  former  is  gi'otesquely,  but  successfully, 
employed  in  the  domestic  architecture  of  France,  colored  tiles  being 
inserted  in  the  diamond  spaces  between  the  crossing  timbers ;  and 
the  latter  admirably  in  Tuscany,  in  external  bas-reliefs,  by  the  Robbia 
family,  in  which  works,  while  we  cannot  but  sometimes  regi-et  the 
useless  and  ill-arranged  colors,  we  would  by  no  means  blame  the 
employment  of  a  material  which,  whatever  its  defects,  excels  every 
other  in  permanence,  and,  perhaps,  requires  even  greater  skill  in  its 
management  than  marble.  For  it  is  not  the  material,  but  the 
absence  of  the  human  labor,  which  makes  the  thing  worthless  ;  and 
a  piece  of  teiTa  cotta,  or  of  plaster  of  Paiis,  which  has  been  wrought 
by  human  hand,  is  worth  all  the  stone  in  Carrara,  cut  by  machinery. 
It  is,  indeed,  possible,  and  even  usual,  for  men  to  sink  into  machines 
themselves,  so  that  even  hand-work  has  all  the  characters  of  mecha- 
nism ;  of  tha  difference  between  living  and  dead  hand-work  I  shall 
speak  presently  *  all  that  I  ask  at  present  is,  what  it  is  always  in  our 


46  THK    LAMP    OB"    TRDTU. 

power  to  secure — tlie  contessiou  of  what  wc  have  done,  and  what 
we  have  given  ;  so  that  wlien  we  use  stone  at  all,  since  all  stone  is 
naturally  supposed  to  be  carved  by  hand,  we  must  not  carve  it  by 
machinery  ;  neither  must  we  ase  any  artificial  stone  cast  into  shap*', 
nor  any  stucco  ornaments  of  the  color  of  stone,  or  which  might  in 
any  wise  be  mistiiken  fur  it,  as  the  stucco  mouldiiiGfs  in  the  cortile 
of  the  Palazzo  Vucohio  at  Florence,  which  cast  a  shame  and  su.«i>icio:i 
over  eveiy  part  of  the  buildini;.  But  for  ductile  and  fusibl-^ 
materials,  as  clay,  iron,  and  bronze,  since  these  will  usually  b^ 
supposed  to  have  been  cast  or  stamped,  it  is  at  our  pleasure  t ) 
emj^loy  them  as  we  AN-ill ;  remembormg  that  they  become  precious, 
or  otherwise,  just  in  proportion  to  the  hand- work  upon  them,  or  t  > 
the  clearness  of  their  reception  of  the  hand-w^ork  of  their  mould. 

But  I  believe  no  cause  to  have  been  more  active  in  the  degradation 
of  our  natural  feeling  for  beauty,  than  the  constant  use  of  cast  iron 
ornaments.  The  conmaon  iron  work  of  the  middle  ages  was  a? 
simple  as  it  WJis  efteetive,  composed  of  leafage  cut  flat  out  of  sheet 
iron,  and  twisted  at  the  workman's  wU.  No  ornaments,  on  the 
contrary,  are  so  cold,  clums)',  and  mlgar,  so  essentially  incapable  of 
a  fine  line,  or  shadow,  as  those  of  cast  iron  ;  and  while,  ou  the  score 
of  truth,  we  can  hardly  all'ge  anything  against  them,  since  they  are 
always  distinguishable,  at  a  glance,  from  wrought  and  hammered 
work,  and  stand  only  for  what  they  ai-e,  yet  I  feel  very  strongly  that 
there  is  no  hope  of  the  progress  of  the  arts  of  any  nation  which 
indulges  in  these  Aulgar  and  cheap  substitutes  for  real  decoration. 
Their  inefficiency  and  paltriness  I  shall  endeavor  to  show  more 
coudasively  in  another  place,  enforcing  only,  at  present,  the  general 
conclusion  that,  if  even  honest  or  allowable,  they  are  things  in  which 
we  cjm  never  take  just  pride  or  pleasure,  and  must  never  be  employed 
in  any  place  wherein  they  might  either  themselves  obtain  the  credit 
of  being  other  and  better  than  they  are,  or  be  associated  with  the 
downright  work  to  wlii(;h  it  would  be  a  disgrace  to  be  f<>und  in  their 
company. 

Such  are,  I  believe,  the  three  principal  kinds  of  fallac}-  by  which 
architecture  is  liable  to  be  corrupted ;  there  are,  however,  other  and 
more  subtle  forms  of  it,  against  which  it  is  less  easy  to  guard  by 
definite  law,  than  by  the  watchfulness  of  a  manly  and  unaffected 
spirit.  For,  as  it  has  been  above  noticed,  there  are  certain  kinds  of 
deception  which  extend  to  impressions   and  idea*  only ;  of  which 


■ihj:   lamp  of   tkutii.  47 

some  are,  indeed,  of  a  noble  use,  as  that  above  referred  to,  the 
arborescent  look  of  lofty  Gothic  aisles ;  but  of  which  the  most  part 
have  so  much  of  legerdemain  and  trickery  about  them,  that  they 
will  lower  any  style  in  wliich  they  considerably  prevail ;  and  they 
are  likely  to  prevail  when  once  they  are  admitted,  being  apt  to  catch 
the  fancy  alike  of  uninventive  architect^  and  feelingless  spectators  ; 
just  as  mean  and  shallow  minds  are,  in  other  matters,  delighted 
with  the  sense  of  over-reachhig,  or  tickled  with  the  conceit  of 
detecting  the  intention  to  over-reach ;  and  when  subtleties  of  this 
kind  are  accompanied  by  the  display  of  such  dextrous  stone-cutting, 
or  architectural  sleight  of  hand,  as  may  become,  even  by  itself,  a 
subject  of  admu-ation,  it  is  a  great  chance  if  the  pui-suit  of  them  do 
not  gradually  di'aw  us  away  from  all  regard  and  care  for  the  nobler 
character  of  the  art,  and  end  in  its  total  paralj'sis  or  extinction. 
And  against  this  there  is  no  guarding,  but  by  stern  disdain  of  all 
display  of  dexterity  and  ingenious  device,  and  by  putting  the  whole 
force  of  our  fancy  into  the  aiTangeraent  of  masses  and  forms,  caring 
no  more  how  these  masses  and  forms  are  wrought  out,  than  a  great 
painter  cares  which  Avay  liis  pencil  strikes.  It  would  be  easy  to  give 
many  instances  of  the  danger  of  these  tricks  and  vanities  ;  but  I 
shall  confine  myself  to  the  examination  of  one  which  has,  as  I  tliink, 
been  the  cause  of  the  fall  of  Gothic  architecture  throughout  Europe. 
I  mean  the  system  of  intersectional  mouldings,  which,  on  account 
of  its  gTeat  importance,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  general  reader,  I 
may,  perhaps,  be  pardoned  for  explaining  elementarily. 

XXI.  I  must,  in  the  first  place,  however,  refer  to  Professor  Willis's 
account  of  the  origin  of  tracery,  given  in  the  sixth  chapter  of  his 
Ai-chitectm-e  of  the  Middle  Ages ;  since  the  publication  of  which  I 
have  been  not  a  little  amazed  to  hear,  of  any  attempts  made  to 
resuscitate  the  inexcusably  absurd  theory  of  its  derivation  fi-om 
imitated  vegetable  form — inexcusably,  I  say,  because  the  smallest 
acquaintance  with  early  Gothic  architecture  would  have  informed 
the  supporters  of  that  theory  of  the  simple  fact,  that,  exactly  in 
proportion  to  the  antiquity  of  the  work,  the  imitation  of  such 
organic  forms  is  less,  and  in  the  earhest  examples  does  not  exist  at 
all.  There  cannot  be  the  shadow  of  a  question,  in  the  mind  of  a 
person  familiarised  with  any  single  series  of  consecutive  examples, 
that  tracery  arose  from  the  gi-adual  enlargement  of  the  penetrations 
of  the  shield  of  stone  which,  usually  supported  by  a  central  pillar, 


48  THE    LAMP    OP    TRUTH. 

occupied  the  head  of  early  windows.  Professor  WilHs,  perhaps, 
confines  his  observations  somewhat  too  absohitely  to  the  double  sub- 
arch.  I  have  given,  in  Plate  VII.  fig.  2.,  an  interesting  case  of  rude 
penetration  of  a  high  and  simply  trefoilod  shield,  from  the  church 
of  the  Eremitani  at  Padua.  But  the  more  frequent  and  typical 
form  is  that  of  the  double  sub-arch,  decorated  with  various  piercings 
of  the  space  between  it  and  the  superior  arch  ;  with  a  simple  trefoil 
under  a  round  arch,  in  the  Abbaye  aux  Horames,  Caen'  (Plate  III. 
fig.  1.) ;  with  a  very  beautifully  proportioned  quatrefoil  in  the 
triforium  of  Eu,  and  that  of  the  choir  of  Lisieux  ;  with  quatrefoils, 
sixfoils,  and  septfoils,  in  the  transept  towei-s  of  Rouen  (Plate  III.  fig. 
2.) ;  \\-ith  a  trefoil  awkwardly,  and  very  small  quatrefoil  above,  at 
Coutances  (Plate  III.  fig.  3.) ;  then,  with  multiplications  of  the 
same  figures,  pointed  or  round,  giving  very  clumsy  shapes  of  the 
intermediate  stone  (fig.  4.,  fi-om  one  of  the  nave  chapels  of  Rouen,  fig, 
5.,  from  one  of  the  nave  chapels  of  Bayeux),  and  finally,  by  thinning 
out  the  stony  ribs,  reaching  conditions  like  that  of  the  glorious 
typical  form  of  the  clerestory  of  the  apse  of  Beauvais  (fig.  6.). 

XXII.  Now,  it  vnW  be  noticed  that,  during  the  whole  of  this 
process,  the  attention  is  kept  fixed  on  the  forms  of  the  penetrations, 
that  is  to  say,  of  the  lights  as  seen  from  the  interior,  not  of  the 
intermediate  stone.  All  the  grace  of  the  window  is  in  the  outline 
of  its  light ;  and  I  have  drawn  all  these  traceries  as  seen  from  within, 
in  order  to  show  the  eflfect  of  the  light  thus  treated,  at  firet  in  f;u" 
off  and  separate  stars,  and  then  gradually  enlarging,  approaching, 
until  they  come  and  stand  over  us,  as  it  were,  fiUing  the  whole 
space  with  their  effulgence.  And  it  is  in  this  pause  of  the  star,  that 
we  have  the  great,  pure,  and  perfect  form  of  French  Gothic ;  it  was 
at  the  instant  when  the  rudeness  of  the  intermediate  space  had  been 
finally  conquered,  when  the  light  had  expanded  to  its  fullest,  and  yet 
had  not  lost  its  nuliant  unity,  principality,  and  visible  first  causing 
of  the  whole,  that  we  have  the  niost  exquisite  feeling  and  most 
faultless  judgments  in  the  management  alike  of  the  tracery  and 
decorations.  I  have  given,  in  Plate  IX.,  an  exquisite  example  of  it, 
from  a  panel  decoration  of  the  buttresses  of  the  north  door  of 
llouen ;  and  in  order  that  the  reader  may  understand  what  truly  fine 
Gothic  work  is,  and  how  nobly  it  unites  fantasy  and  law,  as  well  as 
for  our  immediate  purpose,  it  will  be  well  that  he  should  examine  its 
sections  and  mouldings  in  detail  (they  are  described  in  the  fomth 


I 


.  Jalm  WiJav    Ifil  .BrAaHw 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  49 

Chapter,  §  xxvii.),  and  that  the  more  carefully,  because  this  design 
belongs  to  a  period  in  wliich  the  most  important  change  took  place 
in  the  spirit  of  Gothic  architecture,  which,  perhaps,  ever  resulted 
from  the  natural  progress  of  any  art.  That  tracery  marks  a  pause 
between  the  laying  aside  of  one  great  ruling  principle,  and  the  taking 
up  of  another ;  a  pause  as  marked,  as  clear,  as  conspicuous  to  the 
distant  view  of  after  times,  as  to  the  distant  glance  of  the  traveller 
is  the  culminating  ridge  of  the  mountain  chain  over  which  he  has 
passed.  It  was  the  great  watershed  of  Gothic  art.  Before  it,  all 
had  been  ascent ;  after  it,  all  was  decline ;  both,  indeed,  by  winding 
paths  and  varied  slopes ;  both  interrupted,  like  the  gradual  rise  and 
fall  of  the  passes  of  the  Alps,  by  gTeat  mountain  outliers,  isolated  or 
branching  from  the  central  chain,  and  by  retrograde  or  parallel 
directions  of  the  valleys  of  access.  But  the  track  of  the  human 
mind  is  traceable  up  to  that  glorious  ridge,  in  a  continuous  line,  and 
thence  downwards.     Like  a  silver  zone — 

"  Flung  about  careless!}',  it  shines  afar. 
Catching  the  eye  in  many  a  broken  link, 
In  many  a  turn  and  traverse,  as  it  glides. 
And  oft  above,  and  oft  below,  appears — 
*         *         *         *         to  him  who  journeys  up 
As  though  it  were  another."' 

And  at  that  point,  and  that  instant,  leacliing  the  place  that  was 
nearest  heaven,  the  builders  looked  back,  for  the  last  time,  to  the 
way  by  which  they  had  come,  and  the  scenes  through  which  their 
early  course  had  passed.  They  turned  away  from  them  and  their 
morning  light,  and  descended  towards  a  new  horizon,  for  a  time  in 
the  warmth  of  western  sun,  but  plunging  with  every  forward  step 
into  more  cold  and  melancholy  shade. 

XXIII.  The  change  of  which  I  speak,  is  expressible  in  few  words ; 
but  one  more  important,  more  radically  influential,  could  not  he. 
It  was  the  substitution  of  the  line  for  the  mass,  as  the  element  of 
decoration. 

We  have  seen  the  mode  in  which  the  openings  or  penetration  of 
the  window  expanded,  until  what  were,  at  iirst,  awkward  forms  of 
intermediate  stone,  became  delicate  lines  of  tracery ;  and  I  have 
been  careful  in  pointing  out  the  peculiar  attention  bestowed  on  the 
proportion  and  decoration  of  the  mouldings  of  the  windo^y  at  I^ouen, 

3 


"■go  THE    LAMP    OF    TRl'TH. 

in  Hate  IX.,  as  compared  with  earlier  mouldings,  because  thaft 
beauty  and  care  are  singularly  significant.  They  mark  that  the 
traceries  had  cauyhi  the  euc  of  the  architect.  Up  to  that  time,  up 
to  the  very  last  instant  in  which  the  reduction  and  thinning  of  the 
intervening  stone  was  consummated,  his  eye  had  been  on  the  open- 
ings only,  on  the  stai-s  of  light.  He  did  not  care  about  the  stone ; 
a  rude  border  of  moulding  was  all  he  needed,  it  was  the  penetrating 
shape  which  he  was  watching.  But  when  that  shape  had  received 
its  last  possible  expansion,  and  when  the  stone-work  became  an 
arrangement  of  graceful  and  j)arallel  lines,  that  arrangement,  like 
some  form  in  a  picture,  unseen  and  accidentally  developed,  struck 
suddenly,  inevitably,  on  tlie  sight.  It  had  literally  not  been  seen 
before.  It  flashed  out  in  an  instant,  as  an  independent  form.  It 
became  a  feature  of  the  work.  The  architect  took  it  under  his  care, 
thought  over  it,  and  distributed  its  members  as  we  see. 

Now,  the  great  pause  was  at  the  moment  when  the  space  and 
the  dividing  stone-work  were  both  equally  considered.  It  did  not 
last  fifty  years.  The  forms  of  the  traeery  were  seized  w  itli  a  childish 
delight  in  the  novel  source  of  beauty  ;  and  the  intervening  space 
was  cast  aside,  as  an  clement  of  decoration,  for  ever.  I  have  con- 
fined myself,  in  following  this  change,  to  the  window,  as  the  feature 
in  which  it  is  clearest.  But  tlie  transition  is  the  same  in  eveiy 
member  of  architecture ;  and  its  importance  can  hardly  be  under- 
stood, unless  we  take  the  pains  to  trace  it  in  the  universality  of 
■which  illustrations,  irrelevant  to  our  present  purpose,  will  be  found 
in  the  third  Chapter.  I  pui-sue  here  the  question  of  truth,  relating 
to  the  treatment  of  the  moukUngs. 

XXIV.  The  reader  will  observe  that,  up  to  the  hist  expansion  of 
the  jienetrations,  the  stone-work  was  necessarily  considered,  its  it 
actually  is,  stiff,  and  unyielding.  It  was  so,  also,  during  the  paase 
of  which  I  have  spoken,  when  the  forms  of  the  ti'acery  were  still 
severe  and  pure ;  dehcate  indeed,  but  perfectly  firm. 

At  the  close  of  the  period  of  pause,  the  fii"st  sign  of  serious 
change  was  like  a  low  breeze,  passing  through  the  emaciated  tracery, 
and  making  it  tremble.  It  began  to  undulate  like  the  threads  of  a 
cobweb  lifted  by  the  wind.  It  lost  its  essence  as  a  structure  of 
stone.  Reduced  to  the  slenderaess  of  threads,  it  began  to  be 
considered  as  ])ossessing  also  their  flexibility.  Tlie  architect  was 
pleased  with  this  his  new  fancy,  and  set  himseil'  to  caiTv  it  out ; 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  61 

and  in  a  little  time,  the  bars  of  tracery  were  caused  to  appear  to  the 
eye  as  if  tliey  had  been  ■woven  together  like  a  net.  This  was  a 
change  Avhich  sacriticed  a  great  principle  of  truth  ;  it  sacrificed  the 
expression  of  the  qualities  of  the  material ;  and,  however  delightful 
its  results  in  thoir  fii-st  developments,  it  was  ultimately  ruinovis. 

For,  observe  the  chfFerence  between  the  supposition  of  ductihty, 
and  that  of  elastic  structiu'e  noticed  above  in  the  resemblance  to  tree 
form.  That  resemblance  was  not  sought,  but  necessary  ;  it  resulted 
from  the  natural  conditions  of  strength  in  the  pier  or  trunk,  and 
slenderness  in  the  ribs  or  branches,  while  many  of  the  other  sug- 
gested conditions  of  resemblance  were  perfectly  true.  A  tree  branch, 
though  in  a  certain  sense  flexible,  is  not  ductile ;  it  is  as  firm  in  its 
own  form  as  the  rib  of  stone  ;  both  of  them  wiU  }-ield  up  to  ceitain 
limits,  both  of  them  breaking  when  those  hmits  are  exceeded ;  while 
the  tree  trunk  will  bend  no  more  than  the  stone  pillar.  But  when 
the  tracery  is  assumed  to  be  as  vielding  as  a  silken  cord  ;  when  the 
whole  fragility,  elasticity,  and  weight  of  the  material  are  to  the  eye, 
if  not  in  terms,  denied ;  when  all  the  art  of  the  architect  is  apphed 
to  disprove  the  first  conditions  of  his  working,  and  the  first  attributes 
of  his  materials  ;  this  is  a  dehberate  treachery,  only  redeemed  from 
the  charge  of  direct  falsehood  by  the  \-isibihty  of  the  stone  surface, 
and  degrading  all  the  traceries  it  affects  exactly  in  the  degree  of  its 
presence. 

XXV.  But  the  declining  and  morbid  taste  of  the  later  architects, 
was  not  satisfied  \\'ith  thus  much  deception.  They  were  delighted 
with  the  subtle  charm  they  had  created,  and  thought  only  of  in- 
creasing its  power.  The  next  step  was  to  consider  and  represent 
the  ti-aceiy,  as  not  only  ductile,  but  penetrable  ;  and  when  two 
mouldings  met  each  other,  to  manage  their  intei-section,  so  that  one 
should  appear  to  pass  through  the  other,  retaining  its  independence  ; 
or  when  two  ran  parallel  to  each  other,  to  represent  the  one  as 
partly  contained  -within  the  other,  and  partly  apparent  above  it. 
This  form  of  falsity  was  that  which  crushed  the  art.  The  flexible 
traceries  were  often  beautiful,  though  they  were  ignoble ;  but  the 
penetrated  traceries,  rendered,  as  they  finally  were,  merely  the 
means  of  exhibiting  the  dexterity  of  the  stone-cutter,  annihilated 
both  the  beauty  and  dignity  of  the  Gothic  types.  A  system  so 
momentous  in  its  consequences  deserves  some  detailed  examination. 
XXVL  In  the  drawing  of  the  shafts  of  the  door  at  Lisieux,  under 


62  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

tho  spandril,  in  Plate  VII.,  tlie  reader  will  see  the  mode  of  managing 
the  intersection  of  similar  mouldings,  which  was  iinivei-sal  in  the 
great  periods.  They  melted  into  etich  other,  and  became  oiie  at 
the  point  of  crossing,  or  of  contjK-t ;  and  even  the  suggestion  of  so 
sharp  intersection  as  this  of  Lisieux  is  usually  avoided  (this  design 
beiiiir,  of  course,  only  a  pointed  fonn  of  the  earlier  Norjnan  arcade, 
in  which  the  arches  are  interlaced,  and  lie  each  over  the  preceding, 
an>l  under  tlie  following,  one,  as  in  Ansehn's  tower  at  Canterbury), 
since,  in  the  plurality  of  designs,  when  mouldings  meet  each  other, 
they  coincide  through  some  considerable  portion  of  their  curves, 
meeting  by  contact,  rather  than  by  intei-section  ;  and  at  the  point  of 
coincidence  the  section  of  each  si-parate  moulding  becomes  common 
to  the  two  tlnis  melted  into  each  other.  Thus,  in  the  junction  of 
the  circles  of  the  window  of  the  l^alazzo  Foscari,  Plate  VIII.,  given 
accurately  in  fig.  8.  Plate  IV.,  the  section  across  the  line  s,  is  exactly 
the  same  as  that  across  any  break  of  the  separated  moulding  above, 
as  s-  It  sometimes,  however,  ha])pens,  that  two  ditierent  mouldings 
meet  each  other.  This  was  seldom  permitted  in  the  great  periods, 
and,  when  it  took  place,  was  most  awkwardly  managed.  Fig.  1. 
Plate  IV.  gives  the  junction  of  the  mouldings  of  the  g-abje  and 
vertical,  in  the  window  of  the  spire  of  Salisbury.  That  of  the  gable 
is  comjiosed  of  a  single,  and  that  of  the  vertical  of  a  double  cavetto, 
decorated  with  ball-tlowei"s  ;  and  tlie  larger  single  moulding  swallows 
up  one  of  the  doulile  ones,  and  pushes  torward  among  the  smaller 
balls  with  the  most  blundering  and  clumsy  simplicity.  In  compar- 
ing the  sections  it  is  to  be  observed  that,  in  the  upper  one,  the  line 
a  b  represents  an  actual  vertical  in  the  plane  of  the  window ;  while, 
in  the  lower  one,  the  line  e  d  represents  the  horizontal,  in  the  plane 
of  the  window,  indicated  by  the  perspective  line  d  e. 

XXVII.  The  very  awkwardness  with  which  such  occurrences  of 
difficulty  are  met  by  the  earlier  builder,  marks  his  dislike  of  the 
system,  and  unwillingness  to  attract  the  eye  to  such  arrangements. 
There  is  another  very  clumsy  one,  in  the  junction  of  the  ujiper  and 
sub-arches  of  the  triforium  of  Salisbury  ;  but  it  iskej)t  in  the  shade, 
and  all  the  jirominent  junctions  are  of  mouldings  hke  each  other, 
and  managed  with  ])erfect  simplicity.  But  so  soon  as  the  attention 
of  the  buildei-s  became,  as  we  lia\e  just  seen,  fixed  upon  the  lines 
of  mouldings  instead  of  the  enclosed  spaces,  those  lines  began  to 
preserve  an  independent  existence  wherever  they  met ;  and  different 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  53 

mouldings  were  studiously  associated,  in  order  to  obtain  variety  of 
intersectional  line.  We  must,  however,  do  the  late  buildei-s  the 
justice  to  note  that,  in  one  case,  the  habit  grew  out  of  a  feehng  of 
pro[)ortion,  more  refined  than  that  of  earher  workmen.  It  shows 
itself  tirst  in  the  bases  of  divided  pillars,  or  arch  mouldings,  whose 
smaller  shafts  had  originally  bases  formed  by  the  continued  base  of 
the  central,  or  other  larger,  columns  with  which  they  were  grouped  ; 
but  it  being  felt,  when  the  eye  of  the  architect  became  fastidious, 
that  the  dimension  of  moulding  which  was  right  for  the  base 
of  a  large  shaft,  was  wrong  for  that  of  a  small  one,  each  shaft  had 
an  independent  base ;  at  first,  those  of  the  smaller  died  simply 
down  on  that  of  the  larger  ;  but  when  the  vertical  sections  of  both 
became  complicated,  the  bases  of  the  smaller  shafts  were  considered 
to  exist  withm  those  of  the  larger,  and  the  places  of  their 
emergence,  on  this  supposition,  were  calculated  with  the  utmost 
nicety,  and  cut  with  singular  precision  ;  so  that  an  elaborate  late 
base  of  a  di\"ided  column,  as,  for  instance,  of  those  in  the  nave  of 
Abbe\ille,  looks  exactly  as  if  its  smaller  shafts  had  all  been  finished 
to  the  gi-ound  first,  each  with  its  complete  and  intricate  base,  and  then 
the  comprehending  base  of  the  central  pier  had  been  moulded  over 
them  in  clay,  lea\-iug  their  points  and  angles  sticking  out  here  and 
there,  like  the  edges  of  sharp  crystals  out  of  a  nodule  of  earth. 
The  exhibition  of  technical  dexterity  in  work  of  this  kind,  is  often 
marvellous,  the  strangest  possible  shapes  of  sections  being  calculated 
to  a  hair's-breadth,  and  the  occurrence  of  the  under  and  emergent 
forms  being  rendered,  even  in  places  where  they  are  so  shght  that 
they  can  hardly  be  detected  but  by  the  touch.  It  is  impossible  to 
render  a  very  elaborate  example  of  this  kind  intelligible,  without 
some  fifty  measured  sections ;  but  fig.  6.  Plate  IV,  is  a  very 
interesting  and  simple  one,  from  the  west  gate  of  Rouen.  It  is  part 
of  the  base  of  one  of  the  nan-ow  piers  between  its  principal  niches.  The 
square  column  k,  ha\ing  a  base  with  the  profile  p  r,  is  supposed  to 
contain  within  itself  another  similar  one,  set  diagonally,  and  lifted  so 
far  above  the  inclosing  one,  as  that  the  recessed  part  of  its  profile 
p  r  shall  fall  behind  the  projecting  part  of  the  outer  one.  The  angle 
of  its  upper  portion  exactly  meets  the  plane  of  the  side  of  the  upper 
inclosing  shaft  4,  and  would,  therefore,  not  be  seen,  unless  two 
vertical  cuts  were  made  to  exhibit  it,  wliieh  form  two  dark  lines  die 
whole  way  up  the  shaft.     Two  small  pilastei-s  are  run,  like  fastening 


54  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH. 

Stitches,  tlirough  the  junction,  on  the  front  of  the  shafts.  The 
sections  k  n  taken  respectively  at  the  levels  k,  n,  will  explain  the 
hvpothotical  construction  of  the  whole.  Fi<;.  7.  is  a  base,  or  joint 
lather,  (for  passages  of  this  form  occur  again  and  again,  on  the 
shafts  of  flamboyant  work,)  of  one  of  the  smallest  piers  of  the 
pedestals  which  supported  the  lost  statues  of  the  porch  ;  its  section 
below  would  be  the  same  as  n,  and  its  construction,  after  what  has 
been  said  of  the  other  base,  will  be  at  once  perceived. 

XXVIII.  There  was,  however,  in  this  kind  of  involution,  much  to 
be  admired  as  well  as  reprehended,  the  proportions  of  quantities 
were  always  as  beautiful  as  they  were  intricate ;  and,  though  the 
lines  of  intersection  were  harsh,  they  were  exquisitely  opposed  to 
the  flower-work  of  the  interposing  mouldings.  But  the  fancy  did 
not  stop  here  ;  it  rose  from  the  bases  into  the  arches  ;  and  there,  not 
findin"-  room  enough  for  its  exhibition,  it  withdrew  the  capitals 
from  the  heads  even  of  cylindrical  shafts,  (we  cannot  but  admire, 
while  we  regi-et,  the  boldness  of  the  men  who  could  defy  the 
authority  and  custom  of  all  the  nations  of  the  earth  for  a  space  of 
some  three  thousand  yeai-s,)  in  order  that  the  arch  mouldings  might 
appear  to  emerge  from  the  jjillar,  as  at  its  base  they  had  been  lost 
in  it,  and  not  to  terminate  on  the  abacus  of  the  capital ;  then  they 
ran  the  mouldings  across  and  through  each  other,  at  the  point  of 
the  arch  ;  and  finally,  not  finding  their  natural  directions  enough  to 
furnish  as  many  occasions  of  intei-section  as  they  wished,  l)ent  them 
hither  and  thither,  and  cut  otf  their  ends  short,  when  they  had 
passjd  the  point  of  intei-section.  Fig.  2.  Plate  l\\,  is  part  of  a  flying 
buttress  from  the  apse  of  St.  Gervais  at  Falaise,  in  which  the 
moulding  whose  section  is  rudely  given  above  at  /,  (taken  vertically 
through  the  point/,)  is  carried  thrice  through  itself,  in  the  cross-bar 
and  two  arches ;  and  the  flat  fillet  is  cut  ofl"  sharp  at  the  end  of  the 
cross-bar,  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  the  truncation.  Fig.  3.  is  half  of 
the  head  of  a  door  in  the  Stadthaus  of  Sui-see,  in  which  the  shaded 
part  of  the  section  of  the  joint  f/  g,  is  that  of  the  arch-moulding, 
which  is  three  tinns  reduplicated,  and  six  times  intersected  by  itself, 
the  ends  being  cut  oft'  when  they  become  unmanagtnible.  This  style 
is,  indeed,  earlier  exaggerated  in  Switzerland  ant]  ( uMinany,  owing  to 
the  imitation  in  stone  of  the  dovetailing  of  wood,  particularly  of  the 
intersectiu'T  of  beams  at  the  angles  of  chalets ;  but  it  only  furnishes 
the  more  plain  instance  of  the  danger  of  the  fallacious  system  which, 


THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH.  §©■ 

from  the  beginning,  repressed  tlie  German,  and,  in  the  end,  ruined 
the  French,  Gothic.  It  would  be  too  painful  a  task  to  follow  further 
the  caricatures  of  form,  and  eccentricities  of  treatment,  wliich  grew 
out  of  this  single  abuse — the  flattened  arch,  the  shrunken  pillar,  the 
lifeless  ornament,  the  liny  mouldine;,  the  distorted  and  extravaii'ant 
foHation,  until  the  time  came  when,  over  these  wrecks  and  remnants, 
deprived  of  all  unity  and  principle,  rose  the  foul  torrent  of  the 
renaissance,  and  swept  them  all  away.  So  fell  the  gi-eat  dynasty  of 
media^^'al  architecture.  It  was  because  it  had  lost  its  own  strength, 
and  disobeyed  its  own  laws — because  its  order,  and  consistency,  and 
organisation,  had  been  broken  through — that  it  could  oppose  no 
resistance  to  the  rush  of  overwhehTiing  innovation.  And  this, 
observe,  all  because  it  had  sacrificed  a  single  truth.  From  that  one 
surrender  of  its  integrity,  from  that  one  endeavor  to  assume  the 
semblance  of  M'hat  it  was  not,  arose  the  multitudinous  forms  of 
disease  and  decrepitude,  which  rotted  away  the  pillars  of  its 
supremacy.  It  was  not  because  its  time  was  come  ;  it  was  not 
because  it  was  scorned  by  the  classical  Romanist,  or  dreaded  by  the 
faithful  Protestant,  That  scorn  and  that  fear  it  might  have  survived, 
and  lived ;  it  would  have  stood  forth  in  stern  comparison  with  the 
enervated  sensuality  of  the  renaissance  ;  it  would  have  risen  in 
renewed  and  purified  honor,  and  "svith  a  new  soul,  from  the  ashes 
into  which  it  sank,  giving  up  its  glory,  as  it  had  received  it,  for  the 
honor  of  God — but  its  own  truth  was  gone,  and  it  sank  for  ever. 
There  was  no  wisdom  nor  strength  left  in  it,  to  raise  it  from  the 
dust;  and  the  error  of  zeal,  and  the  softness  of  luxury  smote  it 
down  and  dissolved  it  away.  It  is  good  for  us  to  remember  this,  as 
we  tread  upon  the  bare  ground  of  its  foundations,  and  stumble  over 
its  scattered  stones.  Those  rent  skeletons  of  pierced  wall,  through 
which  our  sea-winds  moan  and  mm*mur,  strewing  them  joint  by 
joint,  and  bone  by  bone,  along  the  bleak  promontories  on  which 
the  Pharos  lights  came  once  from  houses  of  prayer — those  grey 
arches  and  quiet  aisles  under  which  the  sheep  of  our  valleys  feed  and 
rest  on  the  turf  that  has  buried  their  altars — those  shapeless  heaps, 
that  are  not  of  the  Earth,  w^hich  lift  our  fields  into  strange  and 
sudden  banks  of  flowers,  and  stay  our  mountain  streams  with  stones 
that  are  not  their  own,  have  other  thoughts  to  ask  from  us  than 
those  of  mourning  for  the  rage  that  despoiled,  or  the  fear  that 
forsook   them.     It   was   not  the   robber,  not   the  fanatic,  not  the 


S8  THE    LAMP    OF    TRUTH, 

blaspliemer,  who  sealed  the  destruction  that  they  had  ^\Tought ;  the 
war,  the  wrath,  the  terror,  might  have  worked  their  worst,  and  the 
strong  walls  would  have  risen,  and  the  slight  pillars  would  have 
started  again,  from  under  the  hand  of  the  destroyer.  But  thev  could 
not  rise  out  of  the  ruins  of  their  own  violated  tx'uth. 


CHAPTER    III 


THE  LAMP  OF  POWER. 


I.  In  recalling  the  impressions  we  have  received  from  the  works 
of  man,  after  a  lapse  of  time  long  enough  to  involve  in  obscurity  all 
but  the  most  \-i\'\d,  it  often  happens  that  we  find  a  strange  pre- 
eminence and  durabihty  in  many  upon  whose  strength  we  had  little 
calculated,  and  that  points  of  character  which  had  escaped  the 
detection  of  the  judgment,  become  developed  imder  the  waste  of 
memory ;  as  veins  of  harder  rock,  whose  places  could  not  at  fii'st 
have  been  discovered  by  the  eye,  are  left  sahent  under  the  action  of 
frosts  and  streams.  The  traveller  who  desires  to  correct  the  en'ors 
of  his  judgment,  necessitated  by  inequalities  of  temper,  infehcities  of 
circumstance,  and  accidents  of  association,  has  no  other  resource  than 
to  wait  for  the  calm  verdict  of  interposing  years ;  and  to  watch  for 
the  new  an-angements  of  eminence  and  shape  in  the  images  which 
remain  latest  in  his  memory  ;  as  in  the  ebbing  of  a  mountain  lake, 
he  woidd  watch  the  varpng  outhne  of  its  successive  shore,  and  trace, 
in  the  form  of  its  departing  waters,  the  true  direction  of  the  forces 
which  had  cleft,  or  the  currents  wliich  had  excavated,  the  deepest 
recesses  of  its  primal  bed. 

In  thus  reverting  to  the  memories  of  those  works  of  architecture 
by  which  we  have  been  most  pleasurably  impressed,  it  ^nll  generally 
happen  that  they  fall  into  two  broad  classes  :  the  one  characterized 
by  an  exceeding  preciousness  and  dehcacy,  to  which'  we  recur  with  a 
sense  of  affectionate  admiration  ;  and  the  other  by  a  severe,  and,  in 
many  cases  mysterious,  majesty,  which  we  remember  wth  an 
imdiminished  awe,  like  that  felt  at  the  presence  and  operation  of 
some  great  Spiritual  Power.  From  about  these  two  groups,  more 
or  less  harmonised  by  intermediate  examples,  but  always  distinctively 
marked  by  features  of  beauty  or  of  power,  there  will  be  swept  away, 
in  multitudes,  the  memories  of  building's,  perhaps,  in  their  first 
address  to  our  minds,  of  no  inferior  pretension,  but  owing   their 

3* 


68  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

imprcssivoness  to  charactei's  of  less  enduring  nobility — to  value  of 
material,  accumulation  of  ornament,  or  ingenuity  of  mechanical 
construction.  Especial  interest  may,  indeed,  have  been  awakened  by 
such  circumstances,  and  the  memory  may  have  been,  consequently, 
rendered  tenacious  of  particular  parts  or  effects  of  the  structure  ;  but 
it  vill  recall  even  these  only  by  an  active  effort,  and  then  without  emo- 
tion ;  while  in  passive  moments,  and  with  thrilling  influence,  the  images 
of  purer  beauty,  and  of  more  spiritual  power,  w^ill  return  in  a  fair  and 
solemn  company  ;  and  while  the  pride  of  many  a  stately  palace,  and 
the  wealth  of  many  a  jewelled  shrine,  perish  from  our  thoughts  in  a 
dust  of  gold,  there  will  rise,  through  their  dimness,  the  white  image 
of  some  secluded  marble  chapel,  by  river  or  forest  side,  with  the 
fretted  flower-work  shrinking  under  its  arches,  as  if  xmder  vaults  of 
late-fallen  snow  ;  or  the  vast  weariness  of  some  shadowy  wall  whose 
separate  stones  are  like  mountain  foundations,  and  yet  numberless. 

II.  Now,  the  difference  between  these  two  orders  of  building  is 
not  merely  that  which  there  is  in  nature  between  things  beautiful 
and  sublime.  It  is,  also,  the  difference  between  what  is  derivative 
and  original  in  man's  work  ;  for  whatever  is  in  architecture  fair  or 
beautiful,  is  imitated  from  natural  forms  ;  and  what  is  not  so  derived, 
but  depends  for  its  dignity  upon  arrangement  and  government 
received  from  human  mind,  becomes  the  expression  of  the  power  of 
that  mind,  and  receives  a  subhmity  high  in  proportion  to  the  power 
expressed.  All  building,  therefore,  shows  man  either  as  gathering 
or  governing ;  and  the  secrets  of  his  success  are  his  knowing  what 
to  gather,  and  how  to  rule.  These  are  the  two  great  intellectual 
Lamps  of  Architecture  ;  the  one  consisting  in  a  just  and  humble 
veneration  for  the  works  of  God  upon  the  earth,  and  the  other  in  an 
understanding  of  the  dominion  over  those  works  which  has  been 
vested  in  man. 

III.  Besides  this  expression  of  living  authority  and  power,  there 
Is,  however,  a  sympathy  in  the  forms  of  noble  building,  with  what  is 
most  sublime  in  natural  things ;  and  it  is  the  governing  Power 
directed  by  this  symj)athy,  whose  operation  I  shall  at  present 
endeavor  to  trace,  abandoning  all  inquiry  into  the  more  abstract 
fields  of  Invention :  for  this  latter  facultv,  and  the  questions  of 
proportion  and  arrangement  connected  with  its  discussion,  can  only 
be  rightly  examined  in  a  general  \'iew  of  all  the  arts  ;  but  its 
sympathy,  in    architecture,  with    the   vast   controlhng   powers   of 


THE    LAMP    or    POWER,  58 

Nature  herself,  is  special,  and  may  shortly  be  considered ;  and  that 
with  the  more  ad\-antage,  that  it  has,  of  late,  been  httle  felt  or 
regarded  by  arcliitects.  I  have  seen,  in  recent  efforts,  much  contest 
between  two  schools,  one  affecting  originality,  and  the  other  legahty 
— many  attempts  at  beauty  of  design — many  ingenious  adaptations 
of  construction  ;  but  I  have  never  seen  any  aim  at  the  expression  of 
abstract  power;  never  any  appearance  of  a  consciousness  that,  in 
this  ])rimal  art  of  man,  there  is  room  for  the  marking  of  his  relations 
with  the  mightiest,  as  well  as  the  fairest,  works  of  God ;  and  that 
those  works  themselves  have  been  permitted,  by  their  Master  and 
his,  to  receive  an  added  glory  fi'om  their  association  Avith  earnest 
efforts  of  human  thought.  In  the  edifices  of  Man  there  should  be 
found  reverent  worship  and  following,  not  only  of  the  spirit  which 
rounds  the  pillars  of  the  forest,  and  arches  the  vault  of  the  avenue — 
which  gives  veining  to  the  leaf,  and  polish  to  the  shell,  and  grace  to 
every  pulse  that  agitates  animal  organisation, — but  of  that  also 
which  reproves  the  pillars  of  the  earth,  and  builds  up  her  barren 
precipices  into  the  coldness  of  the  clouds,  and  lifts  her  shadowy 
cones  of  mountain  purple  into  the  pale  ai'ch  of  the  sky  ;  for  these, 
and  other  glories  more  than  these,  refuse  not  to  connect  themselves, 
in  his  thoughts,  with  the  work  of  his  own  hand  ;  the  gi'ey  cliff  loses 
not  its  nobleness  when  it  reminds  us  of  some  Cyclopean  waste  of 
mural  stone ;  the  pinnacles  of  the  rocky  promontory  arrange  them- 
selves, undegraded,  into  fantastic  semblances  of  fortress  towers  ;  and 
even  the  awful  cone  of  the  far-off  mountain  has  a  melancholy  mixed 
with  that  of  its  own  sohtude,  which  is  cast  from  the  images  of 
nameless  tumuli  on  white  sea-shores,  and  of  the  heaps  of  reedy  clay, 
into  which  chambered  cities  melt  in  their  mortality. 

IV.  Let  us,  then,  see  what  is  this  power  and  majesty,  which 
Nature  herself  does  not  disdain  to  accept  from  the  works  of  man ; 
and  what  that  sublimity  in  the  masses  built  up  by  his  coralline-like 
energy,  which  is  honorable,  even  when  transferred  by  association  to 
the  dateless  hills,  wliich  it  neede<l  earthquakes  to  lift.,  and  deluges  to 
mould. 

And,  first,  of  mere  size ;  It  might  not  be  thought  possible  to 
emulate  the  sublimity  of  natural  objects  in  this  respect ;  nor  would 
it  be,  if  the  aichitect  contended  with  them  in  pitched  battle.  It 
would  not  be  well  to  build  pyramids  in  the  valley  of  Chamouni ; 
and  St.  Peter's,  among  its  many  other  errors,  counts  for  not  the 


M  THE    LAMP    OF   POWER. 

least  injurious  its  position  on  the  slope  of  an  inconsiderable  hill. 
But  imagine  it  [placed  on  the  plain  of  Marengo,  or,  like  the  Superga 
of  Turin,  or  like  La  Salute  at  Venice  !  The  fact  is,  that  the  appre^ 
hension  of  the  size  of  natural  objects,  as  well  as  of  architecture, 
depends  more  on  fortunate  excitement  of  the  imagination  than  on 
measurements  by  the  eye  ;  and  the  architect  has  a  peculiar  advantige 
in  being  able  to  jiress  close  upon  the  sight,  such  magnitude  as  he  can 
command.  There  are  few  rocks,  e\en  among  the  Alps,  that  have  a 
clear  vertical  fall  as  high  as  the  choir  of  Beauvais  ;  and  if  Ave  secure 
a  good  precipice  of  wall,  or  a  sheer  and  unbroken  flank  of  tower,  and 
place  them  where  there  are  no  enormous  natural  features  to  oppose 
them,  we  shall  feel  in  them  no  want  of  sublimity  of  size.  And  it 
may  be  matter  of  encouragement  in  this  respect,  though  one  alsQ  of 
legret,  to  observe  how  much  oftener  man  destroys  natural  sublimity, 
than  nature  crushes  human  power.  It  does  not  need  much  to 
humiliate  a  mountain.  A  hut  vAW  sometimes  do  it ;  I  never  look 
up  to  the  Col  de  Balme  fi"om  Chamouni,  without  a  Niolent  feeling 
of  provocation  against  its  hospitable  little  cabin,  whose  bi'ight  white 
walls  form  a  visibly  four-square  spot  on  the  green  ridge,  and  entirely 
destroy  all  idea  of  its  elevation.  A  single  \i\\a  will  often  mar  a 
whole  landscape,  and  dethrone  a  d}Tiasty  of  hills,  and  the  acropolis 
of  Atliens,  Parthenon  and  all,  has,  I  beheve,  been  dwarfed  into  a 
model  by  the  palace  lately  built  beneath  it.  The  fact  is,  that  hills  are 
not  so  high  as  we  fancy  thero,  and,  when  to  the  actual  impression  of 
no  mean  comparative  size,  is  added  the  sense  of  the  toil  of  manly  hand 
and  thought,  a  sublimity  is  reached,  which  nothing  but  gi-oss  error  in 
arrangement  of  its  ])arts  can  destroy. 

V.  While,  therefore,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  mere  size  will 
ennoble  a  mean  design,  yet  every  increase  of  magnitude  will  bestow 
upon  it  a  certain  degree  of  nobleness  :  so  that  it  is  well  to  determine 
at  fii-st,  whether  the  building  is  to  be  markedly  beautiful,  or  markedly 
sublime ;  and  if  the  latter,  not  to  be  withheld  by  respect  to  smaller 
parts  from  reaching  largeness  of  scale  ;  provided  only,  that  it  be 
eddently  in  the  architect's  power  to  reach  at  least  that  degi-ee  of 
magnitude  which  is  the  lowest  at  which  subhmity  begins,  ruddy 
definal)le  as  that  which  will  make  a  lising  figure  look  U^ss  than  life 
beside  it.  It  is  the  misfortune  of  most  of  our  modern  buildings  that 
we  would  fain  have  an  universal  excellence  in  them  ;  and  so  iiart 
of  the  funds  must  go  in  painting,  jiart  in  gilding,  part  in  fitting  up. 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  61 

part  in  painted  \\'indows,  part  in  small  steeples,  part  in  ornaments 
here  and  there  ;  and  neither  the  windows,  nor  the  steeple,  nor  the 
ornaments,  are  worth  their  materials.  For  there  is  a  crust  abont 
the  impressible  part  of  men's  minds,  which  must  be  pierced  through 
before  they  can  be  touched  to  the  quick  ;  and  though  we  may  prick 
at  it  and  scratch  it  in  a  thousand  separate  places,  we  might  as  well 
have  let  it  alone  if  we  do  not  come  through  somewhere  with  a  deep 
thrust:  and  if  we  can  give  such  a  thrust  anywhere,  there  is  no  need 
of  another ;  it  need  not  be  even  so  "  wide  as  a  church  door,"  so  that 
it  be  enough.  And  mere  weight  will  do  this  ;  it  is  a  clumsy  way 
of  doing  it,  but  an  effectual  one,  too  ;  and  the  apathy  which  cannot 
be  pierced  through  by  a  small  steeple,  nor  shone  through  by  a  small 
window,  can  be  broken  through  in  a  moment  by  the  mere  weight 
of  a  gi-eat  wall.  Let,  .therefore,  the  architect  who  has  not  large 
resources,  choose  his  point  of  attack  &st,  and,  if  he  choose  size, 
let  him  abandon  decoration  ;  for,  unless  they  are  concentrated,  and 
nimierous  enough  to  make  their  concentration  conspicuous,  all  his 
ornaments  together  would  not  be  worth  one  huge  stone.  And  the 
choice  must  be  a  decided  one,  without  compromise.  It  must  be  no 
question  whether  his  capitals  would  not  look  better  with  a  little 
carvuig — let  him  leave  them  huge  as  blocks  ;  or  whether  his  arches 
should  not  have  richer  architraves — let  him  throw  them  a  foot 
higher,  if  he  can  ;  a  yard  more  across  the  nave  will  be  worth  more 
to  him  than  a  tesselated  pavement ;  and  another  fathom  of  outer 
wall,  than  an  anny  of  pinnacles.  The  limitation  of  size  must  be 
only  in  the  uses  of  the  building,  or  in  the  ground  at  his  disposal. 

VI.  That  limitation,  however,  being  by  such  circumstances  deter- 
mined, by  what  means,  it  is  to  be  next  asked,  may  the  actual  magni- 
tude be  best  displayed ;  since  it  is  seldom,  perhaps  never,  that  a 
building  of  any  pretension  to  size  looks  so  large  as  it  is.  The 
appearance  of  a  figure  in  any  distant,  more  especially  in  any  upper, 
parts  of  it  will  almost  always  prove  that  we  have  under-estimated 
the  magnitude  of  those  parts. 

It  has  often  been  observed  that  a  building,  in  order  to  show  its 
magnitude,  must  be  seen  all  at  once.  It  would,  perhaps,  be  better 
to  say,  must  be  bounded  as  much  as  possible  by  continuous  hues, 
and  that  its  extreme  points  should  be  seen  all  at  once  ;  or  we  may 
state,  m  simpler  terms  still,  that  it  must  have  one  visible  bounding 
.  line  from  top  to  bottom,  and  from  end  to  end.     This  bounding  line 


62  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

from  top  to  bottom  may  eithor  he-  inclined  inwards,  and  tlie  mass, 
therefore,  pvramidical ;  or  vertical,  and  the  mass  form  one  grand 
cliff;  or  inclined  outwai'ils,  as  in  the  advancinjr  fronts  of  old  houses, 
and,  in  a  sort,  in  the  Greek  temple,  and  in  all  buildings  with  hea\-y 
cornices  or  heads.  Now,  in  all  these  cases,  if  the  bounding  line  be 
violently  broken  ;  if  the  cornice  project,  or  the  upper  portion  of  the 
pyramid  recede,  too  violently,  majesty  will  be  lost ;  not  because  the 
building  cannot  be  seen  all  at  once, — for  in  the  case  of  a  heavy 
cornice  no  part  of  it  is  necessarily  concealed — but  because  the  con- 
tinuity of  its  terminal  line  is  broken,  and  the  length  of  that  line, 
therefore,  cannot  be  estimated.  But  the  error  is,  of  coui-se,  more 
fatal  when  much  of  the  building  is  also  concealed ;  as  in  the  well- 
known  case  of  the  recession  of  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  and,  from  the 
greater  number  of  points  of  view,  in  churches  whose  highest  por- 
tions, whether  dome  or  tower,  are  over  their  cross.  Thus  there  is 
only  one  point  from  which  the  size  of  the  Cathedral  of  Florence  is 
felt ;  and  that  is  from  the  corner  of  the  Via  de'  13alestrieri,  opposite 
the  south-east  angle,  where  it  happens  that  the  dome  is  seen  rising 
instantly  above  the  apse  and  transepts.  In  all  cases  in  which  the 
tower  is  over  the  cross,  the  grandeur  and  height  of  the  tower  itself 
are  lost,  because  there  is  but  one  line  down  which  the  eye  can  trace 
the  whole  height,  and  that  is  in  the  inner  angle  of  the  cross,  not 
easily  discerned.  Ilence,  while,  in  symmetry  and  feeling,  such  de- 
signs may  often  have  pre-eminence,  yet,  where  the  height  of  the 
tower  itself  is  to  be  made  apparent,  it  must  be  at  the  west  end,  or, 
better  still,  detached  as  a  campanile.  Imagine  the  loss  to  the  Lom- 
bard churches  if  their  campaniles  were  carried  only  to  their  j^resent 
height  over  their  crosses  ;  or  to  the  Cathedral  of  Rouen,  if  the  Tour 
de  Beurre  were  made  central,  in  the  place  of  its  present  debased 
spire  ! 

VII.  Whether,  therefore,  we  have  to  do  with  tower  or  wall,  there 
must  be  one  bounding  line  from  base  to  coping ;  and  I  am  much 
inclined,  myself,  to  love  the  true  vertical,  or  the  vertical,  with  a 
solemn  frown  of  projection  (not  a  scowl),  as  in  the  Palazzo  Veccliio 
of  Florence.  Tliis  character  is  always  given  to  rocks  by  the  poets  ; 
with  slight  foundation  indeed,  real  rocks  being  little  given  to  over- 
hanging— but  with  excellent  judgment ;  for  the  sense  of  threatening 
conveyed  by  this  fonn  is  a  nobler  character  than  that  of  mere  size. 
And,  in  buildings,  this  threatening  should  be  somewhat  carried 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  &$ 

down  into  their  mas?.  A  more  projecting  shelf  is  not  enough,  the 
whole  wall  must,  Juj liter  like,  nod  as  well  as  frown.  Hence,  I 
think  the  propped  machicolations  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio  and  Duomo 
of  Florence  far  gi-ander  headings  than  any  form  of  Greek  cornice. 
Sometimes  the  projection  may  be  thro^vn  lower,  as  in  the  doge's 
palace  of  Venice,  where  the  chief  ajjpearance  of  it  is  above  the 
second  arcade  ;  or  it  may  become  a  grand  swell  fi-om  the  ground, 
as  the  head  of  a  ship  of  the  line  rises  from  the  sea.  This  is  very 
nobly  attained  by  the  projection  of  the  niches  in  the  thiixl  story  of 
the  Tour  de  Beurre  at  Rouen. 

Till.  What  is  needful  in  the  setting  forth  of  magnitude  in  heiaht, 
is  right  also  in  the  marking  it  in  area — let  it  be  gathered  well 
together.  It  is  especially  to  be  noted  '\\-ith  respect  to  the  Palazzo 
Vecchio  and  other  mighty  buildings  of  its  order,  how  mistakenly  it 
has  been  stated  that  dimension,  in  order  to  become  impressive, 
should  be  expanded  either  in  height  or  length,  but  not  equally : 
whereas,  rather  it  will  be  found  that  those  buildings  seem  on  the 
whole  the  vastest  which  have  been  gathered  up  into  a  mighty 
square,  and  which  look  as  if  they  had  been  measured  by  the  angel's 
rod,  "  the  length,  and  the  breadth,  and  the  height  of  it  are  equal," 
and  herein  something  is  to  be  taken  notice  of,  which  I  believe  not  to 
be  sufficiently,  if  at  all,  considered  among  our  architects. 

Of  the  manj^  broad  di\isions  under  which  architecture  may  be 
considered,  none  appear  to  me  more  significant  than  that  into  build- 
ings whose  interest  is  in  their  walls,  and  those  whose  interest  is 
in  the  lines  dinding  their  walls.  In  the  Greek  temple  the  wall  is 
as  nothing ;  the  entire  interest  is  in  the  detached  columns  and  the 
frieze  they  bear ;  in  French  Flambo3'ant,  and  in  our  detestable  Per- 
pendicular, the  object  is  to  get  rid  of  the  wall  surface,  and  keep  the 
eye  altogether  on  tracery  of  Une  ;  in  Romanesque  work  and  Eg}^- 
tian,  the  Avail  is  a  confessed  and  honored  member,  and  the  light  is 
often  allowed  to  fall  on  large  areas  of  it,  variously  decorated.  Now, 
lx)th  these  principles  are  admitted  by  Xature,  the  one  in  her  woods 
and  thickets,  the  other  in  her  plains,  and  cliffs,  and  waters  ;  but  the 
latter  is  pre-eminently  the  principle  of  power,  and,  in  some  sense,  of 
beauty  also.  For,  whatever  infinity  of  fair  form  there  may  be  in  the 
maze  of  the  forest,  there  is  a  fairer,  as  I  think,  in  the  surface  of  the 
quiet  lake ;  and  I  hardly  know  that  association  of  shaft  or  tracery, 
for  which  I  would  exchange  the  warm  sleep  of  sunshine  on  some 


•4  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

smooth,  broad,  human-like  front  of  marble.  Nevertheless,  if  breadth 
is  to  be  beautiful,  its  substance  must  in  some  sort  be  beautiful ;  and 
we  must  not  hjistily  condemn  the  exclusive  resting  of  the  northern 
architects  in  divided  Unes,  until  at  least  we  have  remembered  the 
diflerence  between  a  blank  surface  of  Caen  stone,  and  one  mixed 
from  Genoa  and  Carrara,  of  serpentine  with  snow  :  but  as  regards 
abstract  power  and  awfulness,  there  is  no  question  ;  without  breadth 
of  surface  it  is  in  vain  to  seek  them,  and  it  matters  httle,  so  that  the 
surface  be  wide,  bold,  and  unbroken,  whether  it  be  of  brick  or  of 
jasper  ;  the  light  of  heaven  upon  it,  and  tlTe  weight  of  earth  in  it, 
are  all  we  need :  for  it  is  singular  how  forgetful  the  mind  may  be- 
come both  of  material  and  workmanship,  if  only  it  have  space 
enough  over  which  to  range,  and  to  remind  it,  however  feebly,  of 
the  joy  that  it  has  in  contemplating  the  flatness  and  sweep  of  great 
plains  and  broad  seas.  And  it  is  a  noble  thing  for  men  to  do  this 
with  their  cut  stone  or  moulded  clay,  and  to  make  the  face  of  a  wall 
look  infinite,  and  its  edge  against  the  sky  like  an  horizon :  or  even 
if  less  than  this  be  reached,  it  is  still  dehghtful  to  mark  the  play  of 
passing  light  on  its  broad  surface,  and  to  see  by  how  many  artifices 
and  gradations  of  tinting  and  shadow,  time  and  storm  will  set  their 
wild  signatui-es  upon  it ;  and  how  in  the  rising  or  declining  of  the 
day  the  unbroken  twilight  rests  long  and  luridly  on  its  high  Hneless 
forehead,  and  fades  away  uutraceably  down  its  tiers  of  confused  and 
countless  stone. 

IX.  Tliis,  then,  being,  as  I  think,  one  of  the  peculiar  elements  of 
subhinc  architecture,  it  may  be  easily  seen  how  necessarily  conse- 
quent upon  th*  love  of  it  will  be  the  choice  of  a  form  ajiproacliing 
to  the  square  for  the  main  outline. 

For,  in  whatever  direction  the  building  is  contracted,  in  that  direc- 
tion the  eye  will  be  drawn  to  its  temiinal  lines ;  and  the  sense  of 
surface  will  only  be  at  its  fullest  when  those  lines  are  removed,  in 
ever}'  direction,  as  far  as  possible.  Tluis  the  square  and  circle  are 
pre-eminently  the  areas  of  power  among  those  bounded  l\y  purely 
straight  or  curved  lines ;  and  these,  with  their  relative  sohds,  the 
cube  and  sphere,  and  relative  solids  of  progression  (as  in  the  investi- 
gation of  the  laws  of  jiroportion  I  shall  call  those  masses  which  are 
generated  by  the  progression  of  an  area  of  given  form  along  a  line 
in  a  given  direction),  the  square  and  cylindrical  column,  are  the 
elements  of  utmost  power  in  all  architectural   arrangements.     On 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  65 

the  othe?liand,  gi-ace  and  perfect  proportion  require  an  elongation 
in  some  one  tiirection :  and  a  sense  of  power  may  be  communicated 
to  this  form  of  magnitude  by  a  continuous  series  of  any  marked 
features,  such  as  the  eye  may  be  unable  to  number ;  while  yet  Ave 
feel,  from  their  boldness,  decision,  and  simplicity,  that  it  is  indeed 
their  multitude  which  has  embarrassed  us,  not  any  confusion  or 
indistinctness  of  form.  This  expedient  of  continued  series  forms  the 
sublimity  of  arcades  and  aisles,  of  all  ranges  of  columns,  and,  on  a 
smaller  scale,  of  those  Greek  mouldings,  of  which,  repeated  as  they 
now  are  in  all  the  meanest  and  most  familiar  forms  of  our  furniture, 
it  is  impossible  altogether  to  weary.  Now,  it  is  evident  that  the 
architect  has  choice  of  two  types  of  form,  each  properly  associated 
with  its  own  kind  of  interest  or  decoration  :  the  square,  or  greatest 
area,  to  be  chosen  especially  when  the  surface  is  to  be  the  subject 
of  thought ;  and  the  elongated  area,  when  the  divisions  of  the  sur- 
face are  to  be  the  subjects  of  thought.  Both  these  ordei*s  of  form, 
as  I  think  nearly  every  other  source  of  power  and  beauty,  are  mar- 
vellously united  in  that  building  which  I  fear  to  weaiy  the  reader 
}>y  bringing  forward  too  frequently,  as  a  model  of  all  perfection — 
the  Doge's  ])alace  at  Venice  :  its  general  arrangement,  a  hollow 
square ;  its  principal  facade,  an  oblong,  elongated  to  the  eye  by  a 
range  of  thirty-four  small  arches,  and  thirty-fi\'e  columns,  while  it  is 
separated  by  a  richly  canopied  window  in  the  centre,  into  two 
massive  divisions,  whose  height  and  length  are  nearly  as  four  to 
five  ;  the  arcades  which  give  it  length  being  confined  to  the  lower 
stories,  and  the  upper,  between  its  broad  windows,  left  a  mighty 
surface  of  smooth  marble,  chequered  with  blocks  of  alternate  rose- 
color  and  white.  It  would  be  impossible,  I  believe,  to  invent  a 
more  magnificent  arrangement  of  all  that  is  in  building  most  digni- 
fied and  most  fair. 

X.  In  the  Lombard  Romanesque,  the  two  principles  are  more 
fused  into  each  other,  as  most  characteristically  in  the  cathedral  of 
Pisa :  length  of  proportion,  exhibited  by  an  arcade  of  twenty-one 
arches  above,  and  fifteen  below,  at  the  side  of  the  nave  ;  bold 
square  proportion  in  the  front ;  that  front  divided  into  arcades, 
placed  one  above  the  other,  the  lowest  with  its  pillars  engaged,  of 
seven  arches,  the  four  uppermost  thrown  out  boldly  from  the 
receding  wall,  and  casting  deep  shadows  ;  the  first,  above  the  base- 
ment, of  nineteen  arches ;  the  second  of  twenty-one ;  the  thii'd  and 


66  THE    LAMP    OF   POWER. 

fouilli  of  eight  each  ;  sixty-three  arches  in  all ;  all  circular  headed, 
all  with  cyhndrical  shafts,  and  the  lowest  Avith  square  panellings,  set 
diagonally  under  their  semicircles,  an  universal  ornament  in  tliis 
style  (Plate  XII.  fig.  7.) ;  the  apse  a  semicircle,  with  a  semidome 
for  its  roof,  and  thi-ee  ranges  of  circular  arches  for  its  exterior  orna- 
ment ;  in  the  interior  of  the  nave,  a  range  of  circular  arches  below  a 
circular-arched  triforium,  and  a  vast  flat  surface,  observe,  of  wall 
decorated  Avith  striped  marble  above ;  the  whole  arrangement  (not 
a  peculiar  one,  but  characteristic  of  every  church  of  the  period ; 
and,  to  my  feeling,  the  most  majestic  ;  not  perhaps  the  fairest,  but 
the  mightiest  type  of  form  wliich  the  mind  of  man  h:\s  ever  con- 
ceived) based  exclusively  on  associations  of  the  circle  and  the 
square. 

I  am  now,  however,  trenching  upon  ground  which  I  desire  to 
reserve  for  more  careful  examination,  in  connection  with  other  aesthe- 
tic questions :  but  I  behove  the  examples  I  have  given  will  justify 
my  \-indication  of  the  square  form  from  the  reprobation  which  has 
been  lightly  thrown  upon  it ;  nor  might  this  be  done  for  it  only  as 
a  ruling  outline,  but  jus  occurring  constantly  in  the  best  mosaics,  and 
in  a  thousand  forms  of  minor  decoration,  which  I  caimot  now 
examine ;  my  chief  assertion  of  its  majesty  being  always  as  it  is  an 
exponent  of  space  and  surface,  and  therefore  to  be  chosen,  either  to 
rule  in  their  outlines,  or  to  adorn  by  masses  of  light  and  shade  those 
portions  of  buildings  in  which  surface  is  to  be  rendered  precious  or 
honoi'able. 

XI.  Thus  far,  then,  of  general  forms,  and  of  the  modes  in  which 
the  scale  of  architecture  is  best  to  bs  exhibited.  Lot  us  next  con- 
sider the  manifestations  of  power  which  belong  to  its  details  and 
lesser  divisions. 

The  fii"st  division  we  have  to  regard,  is  the  inevitable  one  of 
masonry.  It  is  true  that  this  division  may,  by  great  art,  be  con- 
cealed ;  but  I  think  it  unwise  (as  well  as  dishonest)  to  do  so ;  for 
this  reason,  that  there  is  a  very  noble  character  always  to  be 
obtained  by  the  opposition  of  large  stones  to  divided  masonry,  as  by 
shafts  and  columns  of  one  piece,  or  massy  lintels  and  architraves,  to 
wall  work  of  l)ricks  or  smaller  stones  ;  and  there  is  a  certain  organi- 
sation in  the  management  of  such  parts,  like  that  of  the  continuous 
bones  of  the  skeleton,  opposed  to  the  vertebrie,  which  it  is  not  well 
to  surrender.     I  hold,  therefore,  that,  for  this  and  other  reasons,  tho 


THE    LAMP    OF   POWER.  G7 

masonry  of  a  building  is  to  be  shown  :  and  also  that,  -with  certain 
rare  exceptions  (as  in  the  cases  of  chapels  and  shrines  of  most  finished 
■workmansliip),  the  smaller  the  building,  the  more  necessary  it  is 
that  its  masonry  should  be  bold,  and  vice  versa.  For  if  a  building 
be  under  the  mark  of  average  magnitude,  it  is  not  in  our  power  to 
increase  its  apparent  size  (too  easily  measm-eable)  by  any  propor- 
tionate diminution  in  the  scale  of  its  masonry.  But  it  may  be  often 
in  our  power  to  g-ive  it  a  certain  nobihty  by  building  it  of  massy 
stones,  or,  at  all  events,  introducing  such  into  its  make.  Thus  it  is 
impossible  that  there  should  ever  be  majesty  in  a  cottage  built  of 
brick  ;  but  there  is  a  marked  element  of  sublimity  in  the  rude  and 
irregular  piling  of  the  rocky  walls  of  the  mountain  cottages  of 
Wales,  Cumberland,  and  Scotland.  ITieir  size  is  not  one  whit 
diminished,  though  four  or  five  stones  reach  at  their  angles  from 
the  gTound  to  the  eaves,  or  though  a  native  rock  happen  to  project 
conveniently,  and  to  be  built  into  the  framework  of  the  wall.  On 
the  other  hand,  after  a  building  has  once  reached  the  mark  of 
majestic  size,  it  matters,  indeed,  comparatively  little  whether  its 
masonry  be  large  or  small,  but  if  it  be  altogether  large,  it  will  some- 
times diminish  the  magnitude  for  want  of  a  measure  ;  if  altogether 
small,  it  will  suggest  ideas  of  poverty  in  material,  or  deficiency  in 
mechanical  resource,  besides  interfering  in  many  cases  ■with  the  lines 
of  the  design,  and  delicacy  of  the  workmanship.  A  very  unhappy 
instance  of  such  interference  exists  in  the  faqade  of  the  church  of 
St.  Madeleine  at  Pai-is,  where  the  columns,  being  built  of  very  small 
stones  of  nearly  equal  size  with  visible  joints,  look  as  if  they  were 
covered  with  a  close  trellis.  So,  then,  that  masonry  will  be  gene- 
rally the  most  magnificent  Avhich,  without  the  use  of  materials 
systematically  small  or  large,  accommodates  itself,  naturally  and 
frankly,  to  the  conditions  and  structure  of  its  work,  and  displays 
alike  its  power  of  dealing  with  the  vastest  masses,  and  of  accom- 
plishing its  purpose  with  the  smallest,  sometimes  heaping  rock  upon 
rock  with  Titanic  commandment,  and  anon  binding  the  dusty  rem- 
nants and  edgy  splinters  into  springing  vaults  and  swelling  domes. 
And  if  the  nobility  of  this  confessed  and  natm-al  masonry  were  more 
commonly  felt,  we  should  not  lose  the  dignity  of  it  b}'  smoothing 
surfaces  and  fitting  joints.  The  sums  which  we  waste  in  chiselhng 
and  polishing  stones  wliich  would  have  been  better  left  as  they  came 
from  the  quarry  would  often  raise  a  biulding  a  story  higher.     Only 


88  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

in  this  there  is  to  be  a  certain  respect  for  material  also :  for  if  we 
build  in  marble,  or  in  any  limestone,  the  known  ease  of  the  work- 
mansliij)  will  make  its  absence  seem  slovenly;  it  will  be  well  to 
take  ad\'antage  of  the  stone's  softness,  and  to  make  the  design 
delicate  and  dependent  upon  smoothness  of  chis<'lled  surfaces :  but 
if  Ave  build  in  granite  or  lava,  it  is  a  fully,  in  most  cases,  to  cast 
away  the  labor  necessaiy  to  smooth  it ;  it  is  wiser  to  make  the 
design  granitic  itself,  and  to  leave  the  blocks  rudely  squared.  I  do 
not  deny  a  certain  splendor  and  sense  of  power  in  the  smoothing 
of  granite,  and  in  the  entire  subduing  of  its  iron  resist^mce  to  the 
human  supremacy.  But  in  most  cases,  I  believe,  the  labor  and 
time  necessary  to  do  this  would  be  better  spent  in  another  way  ;  and 
that  to  raise  a  building  to  a  height  of  a  hundred  feet  with  rough « 
blocks,  is  better  than  to  raise  it  to  seventy  with  smooth  ones.  Tliere 
is  also  a  magnificence  in  the  natural  cleavage  of  the  stone  to  which 
the  art  nmst  indeed  be  great  that  i>retends  to  be  et|uivak'nt ;  and  a 
stern  ex])ression  of  brotherhood  with  the  mountiiin  heart  fi-om  which 
it  has  been  rent,  ill-exchanged  for  a  glistering  obedience  to  tlie  rule 
and  measiu'e  of  men.  His  eye  must  be  delicate  indeed,  who  would 
desire  to  see  the  l*itti  palace  polished. 

XII.  Next  to  those  of  the  masonry,  we  have  to  consider  the 
di\"isions  of  the  design  itself,  lliose  ch\isions  are  necessarily,  either 
into  ma&ses  of  light  and  shade,  or  else  by  traced  lines  ;  which  latter 
must  be,  indeed,  themselves  produced  by  incisions  or  projections 
which,  in  some  hghts,  cast  a  cei-t^iin  breadth  of  shade,  but  which 
may,  nevertheless,  if  finely  enough  cut,  he  always  true  hnes,  in 
distant  effect.  I  call,  for  instance,  such  panelling  as  that  of  Uenry 
the  Seventh's  chapel,  pure  hnear  division. 

Now,  it  does  not  seem  to  me  sufficiently  recollected,  that  a  wall 
surface  Is  to  an  architect  simply  what  a  white  canvass  is  to  a  pjiinter, 
with  this  only  (htference,  that  the  wall  hits  already  a  sublimity  in  its 
height,  substance,  and  other  characters  already  considered,  on  which 
it  is  more  dangerous  to  break  than  to  touch  with  shade  the  canvass 
surface.  And,  for  my  own  jiart,  I  think  a  sm(X)th,  broad,  freshly 
laid  surface  of  gesso  a  fairer  thing  than  most  pictures  I  see  painted 
on  it ;  much  more,  a  noble  surface  of  stone  than  most  architectural 
features  wliich  it  is  caused  to  assume.  But  however  this  may  be, 
the  canvass  and  wall  ai"e  supjiosed  to  be  given,  and  it  is  our  craft  to 
divide  them. 


THE    LAMP    OF    PQ-WER,  69 

And  the  principles  on  which  this  dinsion  k  to  be  made,  are,  as 
regards  relation  of  quantities,  the  same  in  architecture  as  in  paintino-, 
or  indeed,  in  any  other  art  whatsoever,  only  the  painter  is  by  his 
varied  subject  partly  permitted,  partly  compelled,  to  dispense  with 
the  symmetry  of  architectural  light  and  shade,  and  to  adopt  arrange- 
ments apparently  free  and  accidental.  So  that  in  modes  of  gi'oiipiug 
there  is  much  diflerence  (though  no  opposition)  between  the  two 
ai-ts ;  but  in  rules  of  quantity,  both  are  ahke,  so  far  forth  as  their 
commands  of  means  are  alike.  For  the  architect,  not  being  able  to 
secure  always  the  same  depth  or  decision  of  shadow,  nor  to  add  to 
its  sadness  by  color  (because  even  when  color  is  employed,  it  cannot 
follow  the  moving  shade),  is  compelled  to  make  many  allowances, 
and  avail  himself  of  many  contrivances,  which  the  painter  needs 
neither  consider  nor  employ. 

XIII,  Of  these  limitations  the  first  consequence  is,  that  positive 
shade  is  a  more  necessary  and  more  sublime  thing  in  an  architect's 
hands  than  in  a  painter's.  For  the  latter  being  able  to  temper  liis 
light  with  an  under  tone  throughout,  and  to  make  it  dehghtfiil  with 
sweet  color,  or  awful  with  lurid  color,  and  to  represent  distance,  and 
air,  and  sun,  by  the  depth  of  it,  and  fill  its  whole  space  ynth 
expression,  can  deal  with  an  enormous,  nay,  almost  with  an  universal 
extent  of  it,  and  the  best  paintei-s  most  delight  in  such  extent ;  but 
as  light,  with  the  architect,  is  nearly  always  hable  to  become  full  and 
untempered  sunshine  seen  upon  solid  surface,  his  only  rests,  and  his 
chief  means  of  sublimity,  are  definite  shades.  So  that,  after  size 
and  weight,  the  Power  of  architecture  may  be  said  to  depend  on 
the  quantity  (whether  measured  in  space  or  intenseness)  of  its 
shadow  ;  and  it  seems  to  me,  that  the  reality  of  its  works,  and  the 
use  and  influence  they  have  in  the  daily  lite  of  men  (as  opposed  to 
those  works  of  art  with  which  we  have  nothing  to  do  but  m  times 
of  rest  or  of  pleasure),  require  of  it  that  it  should  express  a  kind 
of  hvunan  s}-mpathy,  by  a  measiire  of  darkness  as  great  fis  there  is 
in  human  life  :  and  that  as  the  great  poem  and  great  fiction  generally 
atiect  us  most  by  the  majesty  of  then*  masses  of  shade,  and  cannot 
take  hold  upon  us  if  they  aftect  a  continuance  of  lyric  sprightliness, 
but  must  be  serious  often,  and  sometimes  melancholy,  else  they  do 
not  express  the  tnith  of  this  wild  world  of  oui's  ;  so  there  must  be, 
ill  this  magTiificently  Inmian  art  of  arcliitecture,  some  equivalent 
expression  for  the  trouble  and  wTath  of  life,  for  its  sorrow  and  its 


70  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

mvstorv  :  and  thLs  it  can  only  s\ye  by  doptli  or  difiiision  of  gloom, 
by  the  frown  upon  its  fi-ont,  and  the  shadow  of  its  recess.  So  that 
Rembrandtism  is  a  noble  manner  in  architecture,  though  a  false 
one  in  painting ;  and  I  do  not  beheve  that  ever  any  building  was 
truly  great,  unless  it  had  mighty  masses,  vigorous  and  deep,  of 
shadow  mingled  with  its  surface.  And  among  the  fii-st  habits  that 
a  young  architect  should  learn,  is  that  of  thinking  in  shadow,  not 
looking  at  a  design  in  its  miserable  hny  skeleton  ;  but  conceiving  it 
as  it  will  be  when  the  dawn  hghts  it,  and  the  dusk  leaves  it ;  when 
its  stones  will  be  hot,  and  its  crannies  cool ;  when  the  lizards  will 
ba.sk  on  the  one,  and  the  birds  build  in  the  other.  Let  him  design 
with  the  sense  of  cold  and  heat  upon  him  ;  let  him  cut  out  the 
shadoAvs,  as  men  dig  wells  in  unwatered  plains ;  and  lead  along  the 
h<Thts,  as  a  founder  does  his  hot  metal ;  let  him  keep  the  full 
command  of  both,  and  see  that  he  knows  liow  they  fall,  and  where 
thev  fade.  His  paper  Hnes  and  projiortions  are  of  no  value :  all 
that  he  has  to  do  must  be  done  by  spaces  of  light  and  darkness ; 
and  his  business  is  to  see  that  the  one  is  broad  and  bold  enough  not 
to  be  swallowed  up  by  twlight,  and  the  other  deep  enough  not  to 
be  dried  like  a  shallow  pool  by  a  noon-day  sun. 

And,  that  this  may  be,  the  first  necessity  is  that  the  quantities 
of  shade  or  light,  whatever  they  may  be,  shall  be  thrown  into 
masses,  either  of  something  like  equal  weight,  or  else  large  masses 
of  the  one  relieved  with  small  of  the  other  ;  but  masses  of  one  or 
other  kind  there  must  be.  No  design  that  is  divided  at  all,  and  is 
not  divided  into  masses,  can  ever  be  of  the  smallest  value  :  this 
gi-oat  law  respecting  breadth,  precisely  the  same  in  architecture  and 
painting,  is  so  important,  that  the  examination  of  its  two  principal 
applications  \\-ill  include  most  of  the  conditions  of  majestic  design 
on  which  I  would  at  present  insist. 

XIV.  Painters  are  in  the  habit  of  speaking  loosely  of  masses  of 
hfht  and  shade,  meaning  thereby  any  large  spaces  of  either. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  convenient  sometimes  to  restrict  the  terra  "  mass" 
to  the  portions  to  which  proper  form  b^dongs,  and  to  call  the  field 
on  which  such  forms  are  traced,  interval.  Thus,  in  foliage  with 
proiictinix  boughs  or  stems,  we  have  masses  of  light,  with  intervals 
of  shade ;  and,  in  light  skies  with  dark  clouds  uj)un  them,  masses 
of  shade,  with  intervals  of  light. 

This  distinction  is,  in  architecture,  still  more  necessarA- ;  for  there 


THE    LAMP    OF    I'OWER.  7l 

are  two  marked  styles  dependent  npon  it :  one  in  wliich  the  forms 
are  drawn  wth  light  upon  darkness,  as  in  Greek  sculpture  and 
pillars  ;  the  other  in  which  they  are  drawn  with  darkness  upon 
light,  as  in  early  Gothic  foliation.  Now,  it  is  not  in  the  designer's 
power  determinately  to  vary  degrees  and  places  of  darkness,  but  it 
is  altogether  in  his  power  to  vary  in  determined  directions  his 
degrees  of  light.  Hence  the  use  of  the  dark  mass  characterises, 
generally,  a  trenchant  style  of  design,  in  which  the  darks  and  hghts 
are  both  flat,  and  terminated  by  sharp  edges  ;  while  the  use  of  the 
light  mass  is  in  the  same  way  associated  with  a  softened  and  fiill 
manner  of  design,  in  which  the  darks  are  much  warmed  by  reflected 
hghts,  and  the  lights  are  rounded  and  melt  into  them.  The  term 
applied  by  Milton  to  Doric  bas-rehef — "  bossy,"  is,  as  is  generally 
the  case  with  Milton's  epithets,  the  most  comprehensive  and  expressive 
of  this  manner,  which  the  English  language  contains ;  wliile  the 
term  which  specifically  describes  the  chief  member  of  early  Gothic 
decoration,  feuille,  foil  or  leaf,  is  equally  significative  of  a  flat  space 
of  shade. 

XV.  "We  shall  shortly  consider  the  actual  modes  in  which  these 
two  kinds  of  mass  have  been  treated.  And,  firet,  of  the  light,  or 
rounded,  mass.  The  modes  in  which  relief  was  secured  for  the 
more  projecting  forms  of  bas-relief,  by  the  Greeks,  ha\e  been  too 
well  described  by  Mr.  Eastlake*  to  need  recapitulation  ;  the  conclu- 
sion which  forces  itself  upon  us  from  the  facts  he  has  remarked, 
being  one  on  which  I  shall  have  occasion  farther  to  insist  presently, 
that  the  Greek  workman  cared  for  shadow  only  as  a  dark  field 
■wherefrom  his  lio-ht  fio-ure  or  design  might  be  intelligiblv  detached : 
his  attention  was  concentrated  on  the  one  aim  at  readableness,  and 
clearness  of  accent ;  and  all  composition,  all  harmony,  nay,  the  very 
vitality  and  energy  of  separate  groups  were,  when  necessary, 
sacrificed  to  plain  speaking.  Xor  was  there  any  prethlection  for  one 
kind  of  form  rather  than  another.  Rounded  forms  were,  in  the 
columns  and  principal  decorative  membei's,  adopted,  not  for  their 
ovra  sake,  but  as  characteristic  of  the  things  represented.  They 
were  beautifully  rounded,  because  the  Greek  habitually  did  well 
what  he  had  to  do,  not  because  he  loved  roundness  more  than 
squareness  ;    severely  rectilinear  forms  were   associated   with   the 

*  Literature  of  the  Fine  Arts. — Essay  on  Bas-relief. 


72  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER, 

cun-ed  ones  in  the  cornice  and  triglyph,  and  the  mass  of  the  pillar 
was  di\-ided  bv  a  fluting,  which,  in  distant  effect,  destroyed  much 
of  its  breadth.  What  power  of  light  these  primal  arrangements 
left,  was  diminished  in  successive  refinements  and  additions  of 
ornament ;  and  continued  to  diminish  through  Roman  work,  until 
the  confirmation  of  the  circular  arch  as  a  decorative  feature.  Its 
lovely  and  simple  line  taught  the  eye  to  ask  for  a  similar  boundary 
of  solid  form ;  the  dome  followed,  and  necessarily  the  decorative 
masses  were  thenceforward  managed  with  reference  to,  and  in 
sympathy  with,  the  chief  feature  of  the  building.  Hence  arose, 
among  the  Byzantine  architects,  a  system  of  ornament,  entirely 
restrained  within  the  superficies  of  curvilinear  masses,  on  which  the 
light  tVll  with  as  unbroken  gradation  as  on  a  dome  or  column,  while 
the  illumined  surface  wjis  nevertheless  cut  into  details  of  singular 
and  most  ingenious  intricacy.  Something  is,  of  course,  to  be  allowed 
for  the  less  dexterity  of  the  workmen  ;  it  being  easier  to  cut  down 
into  a  sohd  block,  than  to  arrange  the  projecting  portions  of  leaf  on 
the  Greek  capital :  such  leafy  capitals  are  nevertheless  executed  by 
the  Byzantines  with  skill  enough  to  show  that  their  preference  of 
the  massive  form  was  by  no  means  compulsory,  nor  can  I  think  it 
unwise.  On  the  contrary,  while  the  arrangements  of  line  are  far 
more  artful  in  the  Greek  capital,  the  Byzantine  light  and  shade  are 
as  incontestably  more  grand  and  masculine,  based  on  that  quality 
of  pure  gradation,  which  nearly  all  natural  objects  possess,  and  the 
attainment  of  which  is,  in  fact,  the  first  and  most  palpable  purpose 
m  natural  arrangements  of  grand  form.  The  rolling  heap  of  the 
thunder-cloud,  dixided  by  rents,  and  multipHed  by  wreaths,  yet 
gathering  them  all  into  its  broad,  torrid,  and  towering  zone,  and  its 
midnight  darkness  opposite  ;  the  scarcely  less  majestic  heave  of  the 
mountain  side,  all  torn  and  traversed  by  depth  of  defile  and  ridge 
of  rock,  yet  never  losing  the  unity  of  its  illumined  swell  and 
6hado^vy  decline ;  and  the  head  of  every  mighty  tree,  rich  with 
tracery  of  leaf  and  bough,  yet  terminated  against  the  sky  by  a  true 
hne,  and  rounded  by  a  green  horizon,  which,  multiplied  in  the 
distant  forest,  makes  it  look  bossy  from  above  ;  all  these  mark,  for  a 
great  and  honored  law,  that  diffusion  of  light  for  which  the  Byzantine 
ornaments  were  designed  ;  and  show  us  that  those  builders  had  truer 
sjTnpathy  with  wliat  God  made  majestic,  than  the  self-contemjjlating 
and  self-contented   Greek.       I  know   that   they   are   barbaric   in 


L  Wiloy  Uil  Bioail I' 


TIIK    LAMP    OF    POWER.  Y3 

comparison ;  but  there  is  a  power  in  their  barbarism  of  sterner 
tone,  a  power  not  sophistic  nor  penetrative,  but  embracing  and 
mysterious  ;  a  power  faithful  more  than  thoughtful,  which  conceived 
and  felt  more  than  it  created  ;  a  power  that  neither  comprehended 
nor  ruled  itself,  but  worked  and  wandered  as  it  listed,  like  mountain 
streams  and  Minds ;  and  which  could  not  rest  in  the  expression  or 
seizure  of  finite  form.  It  could  not  bury  itself  in  acanthus  leaves. 
Its  imagery  was  taken  from  the  shadows  of  the  storms  and  hills,  and 
had  fellowship  with  the  night  and  day  of  the  earth  itself. 

XVI.  I  have  endeavored  to  give  some  idea  of  one  of  the  hollow 
balls  of  stone  which,  surrounded  by  flowing  leafage,  occur  in  varied 
succession  on  the  architrave  of  the  central  gate  of  St.  Mark's  at 
Venice,  in  Plate  I.  fig.  2.  It  seems  to  me  singularly'  beautiful  in  its 
unity  of  lightness,  and  delicacy  of  detail,  with  breadth  of  light.  It 
looks  as  if  its  leaves  had  been  sensitive,  and  had  risen  and  shut 
themselves  into  a  bud  at  some  sudden  touch,  and  would  presently 
fall  back  again  into  their  wild  flow.  The  cornices  of  San  Michele  of 
Lucca,  seen  above  and  below  the  arch,  in  Plate  VI.,  show  the  effect 
of  heavy  leafage  and  thick  stems  arranged  on  a  sm-face  whose  curve 
is  a  simple  quadrant,  the  hght  dying  from  oflf  them  as  it  turns.  It 
would  be  difficult,  as  I  think,  to  invent  anything  more  noble  ;  and  I 
insist  on  the  broad  character  of  their  arrangement  the  more  earnestly, 
because,  afterwards  modified  by  greater  skill  in  its  management,  it 
became  characteristic  of  the  richest  pieces  of  Gotliic  design.  The 
capital,  given  in  Plate  V.,  is  of  the  noblest  period  of  the  Venetian 
Gothic ;  and  it  is  interesting  to  see  the  play  of  leafage  so  luxuriant, 
absolutely  subordinated  to  the  breadth  of  two  masses  of  light  and 
shade.  What  is  done  by  the  Venetian  architect,  with  a  power  as 
irresistible  as  that  of  the  waves  of  his  surrounding  sea,  is  done  by 
the  mastei-s  of  the  Cis-Alpine  Gothic,  more  timidly,  and  vrith  a 
manner  somewhat  cramped  and  cold,  but  not  less  expressing  their 
assent  to  the  same  gi-eat  law.  The  ice  spiculte  of  the  North,  and  its 
broken  sunshine,  seem  to  have  image  in,  and  influence  on  the  work ; 
and  the  leaves  which,  under  the  Italian's  hand,  roll,  and  flow,  and 
bow  down  over  their  black  shadows,  as  in  the  weariness  of  noon-day 
heat,  are,  in  the  North,  ciisped  and  frost-bitten,  wrinkled  on  the 
edges,  and  sparkling  as  if  with  dew.  But  the  roi^nding  of  the 
ruling  form  is  not  less  sought  and  fe|t.  Ip  the  lower  part  of  Plate 
I.  is  the  finial  of  the  pedinaent  given  in  Plate  11.,  from  the  cathedral 

4 


74 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 


of  St.  Lo.  It  is  exactly  similar  in  feeling  to  the  "Byzantine  capital, 
being  rounded  under  the  abacus  by  four  branches  of  thistle  leaves, 
whose  steins,  springing  from  the  angles,  bend  outwards  and  fall 
back  to  the  head,  throwing  their  jagg}'  spines  down  upon  the  full 
light,  forming  two  shaq>  quatrefoils.  I  could  not  get  near  enough 
to  this  tinial  to  .see  with  what  dfgi-ee  of  delicacy  the  spines  were 
cut ;  but  I  have  sketched  a  natural  group  of  thistle-leaves  beside  it, 
that  the  reader  may  compare  the  types,  and  see  with  what  mastery 
they  are  subjected  to  the  broad  form  of  the  whole.  The  small 
capital  fi-om  Coutancos,  I'late  XIII.  fig.  4.,  which  is  of  earlier  date, 
is  of  simpler  elements,  and  exhibits  the  princii>le  still  more  clearly; 
but  the  St.  Lo  finial  is  only  one  of  a  thousand  instances  which 
might  be  gathered  even  from  the  fully  developed  flamboyant,  the 
feeling  of  breadth  being  retained  in  minor  ornaments  long  after  it 
had  been  lost  in  tlie  main  design,  and  sometimes  capricioasly 
renewing  itself  throughout,  as  in  the  cylindrical  niches  and  pedestals 
which  enrich  the  porches  of  Caudebec  and  Kouen.  Fig.  1.  Plate  I. 
is  the  simplest  of  those  of  Rouen ;  in  the  more  elaborate  there  are 
four  projecting  sides,  divided  by  buttresses  into  eight  roimded 
com]iartn>ents  of  tracery ;  even  the  whole  bulk  of  the  outer  pier  is 
treated  -vvith  the  same  feeling;  and  though  composed  partly  of 
concave  recesses,  partly  of  square  shafts,  partly  of  statues  and 
tabernacle  work,  arranges  itself  as  a  whole  into  one  richly  rounded 
tower. 

XVII.  I  cannot  here  enter  into  the  curious  questions  connected 
with  the  management  of  larger  curved  surfiices  ;  into  the  causes  of 
the  dift'erence  in  pro])ortion  necessary  to  be  observed  between  round 
and  square  towers  ;  nor  into  the  reasons  why  a  column  or  ball  may 
be  richly  ornamented,  while  surface  decorations  would  be  inexpedient 
on  masses  like  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo,  the  tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella, 
or  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's.  But  what  has  been  al>ove  said  of  the 
desirableness  of  serenitv  in  plane  sui-fiices,  applies  still  more  forcibly 
to  those  which  are  curved ;  and  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  we  are, 
at  present,  considering  how  this  serenity  and  power  may  be  carried 
into  minor  divisions,  not  how  the  ornamental  character  of  the  lower 
form  may,  upon  occasion,  l^e  permitted  to  fret  the  calmness  of  the 
liigher.  Nor,  though  the  instances  we  have  examined  are  of 
globular  or  cylindrical  masses  chiefly.  Is  it  to  be  thought  that 
breadth  can  only  bo  secured  by  such  alone :  many  of  the  noblest 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  75 

forms  are  of  subdued  curvature,  sometimes  hardly  visible ;  but 
curvature  of  some  degree  there  must  be,  in  order  to  secure 
any  measure  of  grandeur  in  a  small  mass  of  light.  One  of  the 
most  marked  distinctions  between  one  artist  and  another,  in  the 
point  of  skill,  will  he  found  in  their  relative  deHcacy  of  perception 
of  rounded  surface ;  the  fiill  power  of  expressing  the  perspective, 
foreshortening  and  various  undulation  of  such  surface  is,  perhaps, 
the  last  and  most  difficult  attainment  of  the  hand  and  eye.  For 
instance  :  there  is,  perhaps,  no  tree  which  has  baffled  the  landscape 
painter  more  than  the  common  black  spruce  fir.  It  is  rare  that  we 
see  any  representation  of  it  other  than  caricature.  It  is  conceived 
as  if  it  grew  in  one  plane,  or  as  a  section  of  a  tree,  with  a  set  of 
boughs  symmetrically  dependent  on  opposite  sides.  It  is  thought 
formal,  unmanageable,  and  ugly.  It  would  be  so,  if  it  grew  as  it  is 
di'awn.  But  the  Power  of  the  tree  is  not  in  that  chandeher-like 
section.  It  is  in  the  dark,  flat,  solid  tables  of  leafage,  which  it 
holds  out  on  its  strong  arms,  curved  shghtly  over  them  Uke  shields, 
and  spreading  towards  the  extremity  like  a  hand.  It  is  vain  to 
endeavor  to  paint  the  shai-j),  grassy,  intricate  leafage,  until  this  ruling 
form  has  been  secured ;  and  in  the  boughs  that  approach  the 
spectator,  the  foreshortening  of  it  is  like  that  of  a  mde  hill  country, 
ridge  just  rising  over  ridge  in  successive  distances  ;  and  the  finger- 
like extremities,  foreshortened  to  absolute  bluntness,  require  a 
dehcacy  in  the  rendering  of  them  Hke  that  of  the  drawing  of  the 
hand  of  the  Magdalene  upon  the  v;ise  in  Mr.  Rogers's  Titian.  Get 
but  the  back  of  that  foliage,  and  you  have  the  tree ;  but  I  cannot 
name  the  artist  who  has  thoroughly  felt  it.  So,  in  all  drawing  and 
sculpture,  it  is  the  power  of  rounding,  softly  and  perfectly,  every 
inferior  mass  which  preserves  the  serenity,  as  it  follows  the  truth,  of 
Nature,  and  wliich  demands  the  highest  knowledge  and  skill  fi"om 
the  workman.  A  noble  design  may  always  be  told  by  the  back  of  a 
single  leaf,  and  it  was  the  sacrifice  of  this  breath  and  refinement  of 
surface  for  shar'">  edges  and  extravagant  undercutting,  Avhich 
destroyed  the  Gothiv.  •  ""oukUngs,  as  the  substitution  of  the  line  for 
the  light  destroyed  tnt,  Oothic  tracery.  This  change,  however, 
we  shall  better  comprehena  after  we  have  glanced  at  the  chief 
conditions  of  arrangement  of  the  second  kind  of  mass  ;  that  which 
is  flat,  and  of  shadow  only. 

XVIU.  We  have  noted  above  how  the  wall  surface,  composed  of 


76  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

rich  materials,  and  covcrpd  with  costly  work,  in  modes  which  we 
shall  examine  in  the  next  01iai)ter,  became  a  subject  of  peculiar 
interest  to  the  Christian  architects.  Its  broad  flat  lights  could  only 
be  made  valuable  by  points  or  masses  of  energetic  shadow,  which 
were  obtained  by  the  Romanesque  architect  by  means  of  ranges  of 
recessed  arcade,  in  the  management  of  which,  however,  though  all 
the  effect  depends  upon  the  shadow  so  obtained,  the  eye  is  still,  as 
in  classical  architecture,  caused  to  dwell  ujion  tlie  projocting  columns, 
capitixls,  and  wall,  as  in  Plate  VI.  But  with  the  enlargement  of 
the  window,  which,  in  the  Lombard  and  Romanesque  churches,  is 
usually  little  more  than  an  arched  slit,  came  the  conception  of  the 
simpler  mode  of  decoration,  l)y  penetrations  which,  seen  from 
Mithiii,  are  forms  of  light,  and,  from  without,  are  forms  of  shade.  In 
ItaUan  traceries  the  eye  is  exclusively  fixed  upon  the  dark  forms  of 
the  penetrations,  and  the  whole  proportion  and  power  of  the  design 
are  caused  to  depend  upon  them.  The  intermediate  spaces  are, 
indeed,  in  the  most  perfect  early  examj.les,  filled  with  elaborate 
ornament ;  but  this  ornament  was  so  subdued  as  never  to  disturb 
the  simplicity  and  force  of  the  dark  masses  ;  and  in  many  instances 
is  entirely  wanting.  The  composition  of  the  whole  depends  on  the 
j>roportioning  and  shajiing  of  the  darks ;  and  it  is  impossible  that 
any  thing  can  be  more  exquisite  than  their  placing  in  the  head 
window  of  the  Giotto  campanile,  Plate  IX.,  or  the  church  of  Or 
San  Michele.  So  entirely  docs  the  effect  dejiend  upon  them,  that  it 
is  ([uite  useless  to  draw  Italian  tracery  in  outline ;  if  with  any 
intention  of  rendering  its  effect,  it  is  better  to  mark  the  black  spots, 
and  let  the  rest  alone.  Of  course,  when  it  is  desired  to  obtain  an 
accurate  rendering  of  the  design,  its  lines  and  mouldings  are 
enough  ;  but  it  often  hapj)ens  that  works  on  architecture  are  of  little 
use,  because  they  afford  the  reader  no  means  of  judging  of  the 
effective  intention  of  the  ai'rangements  which  they  state.  No 
person,  looking  at  an  architectural  drawing  of  the  richly  foliaged 
cusps  and  intervals  of  Or  San  Michele,  would  understand  that  all 
this  sculpture  ^vas  extraneous,  was  a  mere  added  grace,  and  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  real  anatomy  of  the  work,  and  that  by  a 
few  bold  cuttings  through  a  slab  of  stone  he  might  reach  the  main 
effect  uf  it  all  at  once.  I  have,  therefore,  in  the  plate  of  the  design 
of  Giotto,  endeavored  especially  to  mark  these  points  of  purpose  ; 
there,  as  in  every  other  instance,  black  shadowg  of  a  graceful  form 


I 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  7? 

lying  on  the  white  surface  of  the  stone,  hke  dark  leaves  laid  upon 
snow.  Hence,  as  before  observed,  the  universal  name  of  foil  apphed 
to  such  ornaments. 

XIX.  In  order  to  the  obtaining  their  full  effect,  it  is  evident  that 
much  caution  is  necessary  in  the  management  of  the  glass.  In  the 
finest  instances,  the  traceries  are  open  lights,  either  in  towers,  as  in 
this  design  of  Giotto's,  or  in  external  arcades  Hke  that  of  the  Campo 
Santo  at  Pisa  or  the  Doge's  palace  at  Venice  ;  and  it  is  thus  only 
that  their  full  beauty  is  shown.  In  domestic  buildings,  or  in 
windows  of  churches  necessarily  glazed,  the  glass  was  usuailj  with- 
drawn entirely  behind  the  tracei'ies.  Those  of  the  Cathedral  of 
Florence  stand  quite  clear  of  it,  casting  their  shadows  in  well 
detached  hues,  so  as  in  most  lights  to  give  the  appearance  of  a 
double  tracery.  In  those  few  instances  in  which  the  glass  was  set 
in  the  tracery  itself,  as  in  Or  San  Michele,  the  effect  of  the  latter  is 
half  destroyed :  perhaps  the  especial  attention  paid  by  Orgagna  to 
his  surface  ornament,  was  connected  with  the  intention  of  so  glazing 
them.  It  is  singular  to  see,  in  late  architecture,  the  glass,  which 
tormented  the  bolder  architects,  considered  as  a  valuable  means  of 
making  the  lines  of  tracery  more  slender  ;  as  in  the  smallest  inter- 
vals of  the  windows  of  Merton  College,  Oxford,  where  the  glass 
is  advanced  about  two  inches  from  the  centre  of  the  tracery  bar 
(that  in  the  larger  spaces  being  in  the  middle,  as  usual),  in  order  to 
prevent  the  depth  of  shadow  from  farther  diminishing  the  apparent 
interval.  Much  of  the  lightness  of  the  effect  of  the  traceries  is 
owing  to  this  seemingly  unimportant  arrangement.  But,  generally 
speaking,  glass  spoils  all  traceries  ;  and  it  is  much  to  be  wished  that 
it  should  be  kept  well  within  them,  when  it  cannot  be  dispensed 
with,  and  that  the  most  careful  and  beautiful  designs  should  be 
reserved  for  situations  where  no  glass  would  be  needed. 

XX.  The  method  of  decoration  by  shadow  was,  as  far  as  we 
have  hitherto  traced  it,  common  to  the  northern  and  southern 
Gothic.  But  in  the  carrying  out  of  the  system  they  instantly 
diverged.  Having  marble  at  his  command,  and  classical  decoration 
in  his  sight,  the  southern  architect  was  able  to  carve  the  inter- 
mediate spaces  with  exquisite  leafage,  or  to  vary  his  wall  surface 
with  inlaid  stones.  The  northern  architect  neither  knew  the 
ancient  work,  nor  possessed  the  delicate  material ;  and  he  had  no 
resource  but  to  cover  his  walls  with  holes,  cut  into  foiled  shapes 


78  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

like  those  of  the  windows.  This  he  did,  often  with  great  clumsiness, 
but  always  with  a  N-igorous  sense  of  composition,  and  always,  observe, 
depending  on  the  shadotcs  for  effect.  Where  the  wall  was  thick 
and  could  not  be  cut  through,  and  the  foilings  were  large,  those 
shadows  did  not  fill  the  entire  s])ace  ;  but  the  form  was,  nevertheless, 
drawn  on  the  eye  by  means  of  them,  and  when  it  was  possible,  they 
were  cut  clear  through,  as  in  raised  screens  of  pediment,  like  those 
of  the  west  front  of  Bayeux ;  cut  so  deep  in  every  case,  as  to  secure, 
in  all  but  a  direct  low  front  light,  great  breadth  of  shadow. 

Tlie  spandril,  given  at  the  toj)  of  l*late  VII.,  is  from  the  south- 
western entrance  of  the  Cathedral  of  Lisieux  ;  one  of  the  most 
quaint  and  interesting  doors  in  Normandy,  probably  soon  to  be 
lost  for  ever,  by  the  continuance  of  the  masonic  operatioas  which 
have  already  destroyed  the  northern  tower.  Its  work  is  altogether 
rude,  but  full  of  spirit  ;  the  opi>osite  spandrils  have  chfferent, 
though  balanced,  ornaments  very  inaccurately  adjusted,  each  rosette 
or  star  (as  the  five-rayed  figure,  now  quite  defaced,  in  the  ujjper 
portion  appears  to  have  been)  cut  on  its  own  block  of  stone  and 
fitted  in  with  small  nicety,  especially  ilhistrating  the  point  I  have 
above  insisted  upon — the  architect's  utter  neglect  of  the  forms  of 
intermediate  stone,  at  this  early  period. 

Tlie  arcade,  of  which  a  single  arcli  and  shaft  are  given  on  the 
left,  forms  the  flank  of  the  door ;  three  outer  shafts  bearing  three 
orders  within  the  spandril  which  I  have  drawn,  and  each  of  these 
shafts  carried  over  an  inner  arcade,  decorated  abo\;e  with  quatre- 
foils,  cut  concave  and  filled  with  leaves,  the  whole  disposition 
exquisitely  picturesque  and  full  of  strange  play  of  light  and  shade. 

For  some  time  the  penetrative  ornaments,  if  so  they  may  be  for 
convenience  called,  maintained  their  bold  and  independent  cha- 
racter. Then  they  multiplied  and  enlarged,  becoming  shallower  as 
they  did  so ;  then  they  Ix^gan  to  run  together,  one  swallowing  up, 
or  hanging  on  to,  another,  like  bubbles  in  expiring  foam — fig.  4. 
from  a  spandril  at  Bayeux,  looks  as  if  it  had  been  blown  from  a 
pipe ;  finally,  they  lost  their  individual  character  altogether,  and 
the  eve  was  made  to  rest  on  the  separating  lines  of  tracery,  as  we 
saw  before  in  the  window  ;  and  then  came  the  great  change  and 
the  fall  of  the  Gothic  power. 

XXI.  Figs.  2.  and  3.,  the  one  a  quadrant  of  the  star  window  of 
the  httle  chapel  close  to  St  Anastosia  at  Verona,  and  the  other  a 


Jolai    \sileK    Ifil 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  Y9 

very  singnilar  example  from  the  church  of  the  Ercmitaul  at  Padua, 
compared  with  tig.  5.,  one  of  the  ornaments  of  the  transept  toAvers 
of  Rouen,  show  the  closely  correspondent  conditions  of  the  early 
Northern  and  Southern  Gothic.^"  But,  as  we  have  said,  the  Italian 
architects,  not  being  embarrassed  for  decoration  of  wall  surface,  and 
not  being  obliged,  like  the  Northmen,  to  multiply  their  penetrations, 
held  to  the  system  for  some  time  longer  ;  and  while  they  increased 
the  refinement  of  the  ornament,  kept  the  purity  of  the  plan.  That 
refinement  of  ornament  was  their  weak  point  however,  and  opened 
the  way  for  the  renaissance  attack.  They  fell,  like  the  old  Romans, 
by  their  luxury,  except  in  the  separate  instance  of  the  magnificent 
school  of  Venice.  That  architecture  began  \vith  the  luxuriance  in 
which  all  others  expired  :  it  founded  itself  on  the  Byzantine  mosaic 
and  fretwork  ;  and  lajdng  aside  its  ornaments,  one  by  one,  wliile  it 
fixed  its  forms  by  laws  more  and  more  severe,  stood  forth,  at  last,  a 
model  of  domestic  Ciothic,  so  grand,  so  complete,  so  nobly  systema- 
tised,  that,  to  my  mind,  there  never  existed  an  architecture  with  so 
stern  a  claim  to  ovn-  reverence.  I  do  not  except  even  the  Greek 
Doric ;  the  Doric  had  cast  nothing  away ;  the  fourteenth  century 
Venetian  had  cast  away,  one  by  one,  for  a  succession  of  centuries, 
every  sj)lendor  that  art  and  wealth  could  give  it.  It  had  laid  down 
its  crown  and  its  jewels,  its  gold  and  its  color,  like  a  king  disrobing  ; 
it  had  resigned  its  exertion,  like  an  athlete  reposing ;  once  capricious 
and  fantastic,  it  had  bound  itself  by  laws  inviolable  and  serene  as 
those  of  nature  hei-self.  It  retained  nothing  but  its  beauty  and  its 
power ;  both  the  liighest,  but  both  restrained.  The  Doric  flutings 
were  of  irregular  number — the  Venetian  mouldings  were  unchange- 
able. The  Doric  manner  of  ornament  admitted  no  temptation, '  it 
was  the  fasting  of  an  anchorite — the  Venetian  ornament  embraced, 
while  it  governed,  all  vegetable  and  animal  forms  ;  it  was  the 
temperance  of  a  man,  the  command  of  Adam  over  creation.  I  do 
not  know  so  magnificent  a  marking  of  human  authority  as  the  iron 
gi-asp  of  the  Venetian  over  his  own  exuberance  of  imagination ;  the 
calm  and  solemn  restraint  with  which,  his  mind  filled  with  thoughts 
of  flowing  leafage  and  fiery  life,  he  gives  those  thoughts  expression 
for  an  instant,  and  then  withdraws  within  those  massy  bars  and 
levelled  cusps  of  stone.^^ 

And  his  power  to  do  this  depended  altogether  on  his  retaining 
the  forms  of  the  shadows  in  his  sight.     Far  from  carrying  the  eye 


80  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

to  the  ornaments,  upon  the  stone,  he  abandoned  these  latter  one  by 
one  ;  and  while  his  mouldings  received  the  most  shapely  order  and 
symmetry,  closely  correspondent  with  that  of  the  Rouen  tracery, 
compare  Plates  IV.  and  VIII.,  he  kept  the  cusps  within  them  per- 
fectly flat,  decorated,  if  at  all,  Avith  a  trefoil  (Palazzo  Foscari),  or 
fillet  (Doge's  Palace)  just  traceable  and  no  more,  so  that  the  quatre- 
foil,  cut  as  sharply  through  them  as  if  it  had  been  struck  out  by  a 
stamp,  told  upon  the  eye,  with  all  its  four  black  leaves,  miies  away. 
No  knots  of  flowerwork,  no  ornaments  of  any  kind,  were  suffered  to 
interfere  with  the  purity  of  its  form  :  the  cusp  is  usually  quite  sharp  ; 
but  slightly  truncated  in  the  Palazzo  Foscari,  and  charged  with  a 
simple  ball  in  that  of  the  Doge;  and  the  glass  of  the  window, 
where  there  was  any,  was,  as  we  have  seen,  thrown  back  behind  the 
stone-work,  that  no  flashes  of  light  might  interfere  with  its  depth. 
Corrupted  forms,  like  those  of  the  Casa  d'Oro  and  Palazzo  I'isani, 
and  several  others,  only  serve  to  show  the  majesty  of  the  common 
design. 

XXII.  Such  are  the  principal  circumstances  traceable  in  tlie  treat- 
ment of  the  two  kinds  of  masses  of  light  and  darkness,  in  the  hands 
of  the  earlier  architects ;  gradation  in  the  one,  flatness  in  the  other, 
and  breadth  in  both,  being  the  quahties  sought  and  exhibited  by 
every  possible  expedient,  up  to  the  period  when,  as  we  have  before 
stated,  the  line  was  sutetituted  for  the  mass,  as  the  means  of  division 
of  surface.  Enouofh  has  been  said  to  illustrate  this,  as  regards 
tracery ;  but  a  word  or  two  is  still  necessary  respecting  the  mouldings. 

Those  of  the  earlier  times  were,  in  tlie  plurality  of  instances,  com- 
posed of  alternate  square  and  eyhndrical  shafts,  variously  associated 
and  proportioned.  AVhere  concave  cuttings  occur,  as  in  the  beautiful 
west  doors  of  Bayeux,  thev  are  between  cylindrical  shafts,  which  they 
throw  out  into  broad  light  The  eye  in  all  cases  dwells  on  broad 
surfaces,  and  commonly  upon  few.  In  course  of  time,  a  low  ridgy 
process  is  seen  emerging  along  the  outer  edge  of  the  cylindrical 
shaft,  forming  a  line  of  light  upon  it  and  destronng  its  gradation. 
Hardly  traceable  at  fii-st  (as  on  the  alternate  rolls  of  the  north  door 
of  Rouen),  it  grows  and  pushes  out  as  gradually  as  a  stag's  horns  : 
sharp  at  first  on  the  edge ;  but,  becoming  prominent,  it  receives  a 
truncation,  and  becomes  a  definite  fillet  on  the  face  of  the  roll.  Not 
yet  to  be  checked,  it  pushes  forward  until  the  roll  itself  becomes  sub- 
ordinate to  it,  and  is  finally  lost  in  a  slight  swell  upon  its  sides,  while 


THK    LAMP    OF    POWER.  flj 

the  conca\dties  have  all  the  time  been  deepening  and  enlarging 
behind  it,  until,  from  a  succession  of  square  or  cyhndrical  masses,  the 
whole  moulding  has  become  a  series  of  concavities  edged  by  delicate 
fillets,  upon  which  (sharp  lines  of  light,  observe)  the  eye  exclusively 
rests.  While  this  has  been  taking  place,  a  similar,  though  less  total, 
change  has  affected  the  flowerwork  itself  In  Plate  I,  fig.  2.  (a),  I 
have  given  two  from  the  transepts  of  Rouen.  It  will  be  observed 
how  absolutely  the  eye  rests  on  the  forms  of  the  leaves,  and  on  the 
three  berries  in  the  angle,  being  in  light  exactly  what  the  trefoil  is  in 
darkness.  These  mouldings  nearly  adhere  to  the  stone ;  and  are 
very  slightly,  though  sharply,  undercut.  In  process  of  time,  the 
attention  of  the  architect,  instead  of  resting  on  the  leaves,  went  to 
the  stalks.  These  latter  were  elongated  (6,  from  the  south  door  of 
St.  Lo) ;  and  to  exhibit  them  better,  the  deep  concavity  was  cut 
behind,  so  as  to  throw  them  out  in  lines  of  light.  The  system  was 
carried  out  into  continually  increasing  intricacy,  until,  in  the  transepts 
of  Beauvais,  we  have  brackets  and  flamboyant  traceries,  composed 
of  twigs  without  any  leaves  at  all.  This,  however,  is  a  partial, 
though  a  sufficiently  characteristic,  caprice,  the  leaf  being  never  gene- 
rally banished,  and  in  the  mouldings  round  those  same  doors,  beau- 
tifully managed,  but  itself  rendered  liny  by  bold  marking  of  its  ribs 
and  veins,  and  by  turning  up,  and  crisping  its  edges,  large  interme- 
diate spaces  being  always  left  to  be  occupied  by  intertwining  stems 
(c,  from  Caudebec).  The  trefoil  of  light  formed  by  berries  or  acorns, 
though  diminished  in  value,  was  never  lost  up  to  the  last  period  of 
hnng  Gothic. 

XXIII.  It  is  interesting  to  follow  into  its  many  ramifications,  the 
influence  of  the  corrupting  principle ;  but  we  have  seen  enough  of  it 
to  enable  us  to  draw  our  practical  conclusion — a  conclusion  a  thou- 
sand times  felt  and  reiterated  in  the  experience  and  adnce  of  every 
practised  mlist,  but  never  often  enough  repeated,  never  profoundly 
enough  felt.  Of  composition  and  invention  much  has  been  wTitten, 
it  seems  to  me  vainly,  for  men  cannot  be  taught  to  compose  or  to 
invent ;  of  these,  the  highest  elements  of  Power  in  architecture,  I  do 
not,  therefore,  speak ;  nor,  here,  of  that  peculiar  restraint  in  the 
imitation  of  natural  forms,  which  constitutes  the  dignity  of  even  the 
most  luxuriant  work  of  the  great  periods.  Of  this  restraint  1  shall 
say  a  word  or  two  in  the  next  Chapter ;  pressing  now  only  the  con- 
cliision,  as  practically  useful  as  it  is  certain,  that  the  relative  majesty 

4* 


82  THE    LAMP    OF    TOWER. 

of  buildings  depends  more  on  the  weight  and  vigor  of  their  masses, 
than  on  any  other  attribute  of  their  design  :  mass  of  everything,  of 
bulk,  of  light,  of  darkness,  of  color,  not  mere  sum  of  any  of  these, 
but  breadth  of  them ;  not  broken  light,  nor  scattered  darkness,  nor 
divided  weight,  but  solid  stone,  broad  sunshine,  stju-less  shade.  Time 
would  fail  me  altogether,  if  I  attempted  to  follow  out  the  range  of 
the  ])riiici]>le  ;  there  is  not  a  feature,  however  apparently  trifling,  to 
which  it  cannot  give  jjower.  The  wooden  fillings  of  belfry  lights, 
necessary  to  protect  their  interiors  from  rain,  are  in  England  usually 
divided  into  a  number  of  neatly  executed  cross-bars,  like  those  of 
Venetian  blinds,  which,  of  course,  become  as  conspicuous  in  their 
sharpness  as  they  are  uninteresting  in  their  ])recise  carpentry,  multi- 
plying, moreover,  the  horizontal  lines  which  directly  contradict  those 
of  the  architecture.  Abroad,  such  necessities  are  met  by  three  or 
four  downright  penthouse  roofs,  reaching  each  fi-om  within  the  win- 
dow to  the  outside  shafts  of  its  mouldings ;  instead  of  the  horrible 
row  of  ruled  lines,  the  space  is  thus  divided  into  four  or  five  grand 
masses  of  shadow,  with  grey  sl(jpes  of  roof  above,  bent  or  yielding 
into  all  kinds  of  delicious  swells  and  curves,  and  covered  with  warm 
tones  of  moss  and  lichen.  Very  often  the  thing  is  more  delightful 
than  the  stone-work  itself,  and  all  because  it  is  broad,  dark,  and 
simple.  It  matters  not  how  clumsy,  how  common,  the  means  are, 
that  get  weight  and  shadow — sloping  roof,  jutting  jiorch,  projecting 
balcony,  hollow  niche,  mjissy  gargoyle,  frowning  parapet ;  get  but 
gloom  and  simplicity,  and  all  good  things  will  follow  in  their  place 
and  time ;  do  b.ut  design  with  the  owl's  eyes  fii-st,  and  you  will  gain 
the  falcon's  aftiM-wards. 

XXIV\  I  am  grieved  to  have  to  insist  upon  what  seems  so  simple : 
it  looks  trite  and  commonplace  when  it  is  written,  but  pardon  me 
this  :  for  it  Is  anything  but  an  accepted  or  understood  principle  in 
practice,  and  the  less  excusably  forgotten,  because  it  is,  of  all  the 
great  anil  true  laws  of  art,  the  easiest  to  obey.  The  executive  facility 
of  complying  with  its  di'niands  cannot  be  too  earnestly,  too  frankly, 
asserted.  There  are  not  five  men  in  the  kingdom  who  could  com- 
pose, not  twenty  who  could  cut,  the  foliage  with  which  the  windows 
of  Or  San  Michele  are  adorned ;  but  there  is  many  a  village  clergy- 
man who  could  invent  aTid  dispose  its  black  openings,  and  not  a 
village  mason  who  could  not  cut  them.  Lav  a  few  clover  or  wood- 
roof  leaves  on  whit(i  paper,  and  a  little  alteration  in  their  positions 


THE    LAMP    OF    POWER.  83 

will  suggest  figures  which,  cut  boldly  through  a  slab  of  marble, 
would  be  worth  more  \vindow  traceries  than  an  architect  could  draw 
in  a  summer's  day.  There  are  few  men  in  the  world  who  could 
design  a  Greek  capital ;  there  are  few  who  could  not  produce  some 
vngor  of  eftect  with  leaf  designs  on  a  Byzantine  block :  few  who 
could  design  a  Palladian  front,  or  a  flamboyant  pediment ;  many 
who  could  build  a  square  mass  like  the  Strozzi  palace.  But  I  know 
not  how  it  is,  unless  that  our  English  hearts  have  more  oak  than 
stone  in  them,  and  have  more  filial  sympathy  with  acorns  than 
Alps ;  but  all  that  we  do  is  small  and  mean,  if  not  worse — thin,  and 
wasted,  and  unsubstantial.  It  is  not  modern  work  only ;  we  have 
built  like  fi-ogs  and  mice  since  the  thirteenth  century  (except  only  in 
our  castles).  What  a  contrast  between  the  pitiful  little  pigeon-holes 
which  stand  for  doors  in  the  e;*st  fi"ont  of  Salisburj",  looking  like  the 
entrances  to  a  beehive  or  a  wasp's  nest,  and  the  soaring  arches  and 
kingly  crowning  of  the  gates  of  Abbe\'ille,  Rouen,  and  Rheims,  or 
the  rock-hewn  piers  of  Chartres,  or  the  dark  and  ^•aulted  porches  and 
%\Tithed  pillars  of  Verona !  Of  domestic  architecture  what  need  is 
there  to  speak  ?  How  small,  how  cramped,  how  poor,  how  miserable 
in  its  petty  neatness  is  our  best !  how  beneath  the  mark  of  attack, 
and  the  level  of  contempt,  that  which  is  common  with  us  !  What 
a  strange  sense  of  formalised  deformity,  of  shrivelled  precision,  of 
starved  accuracy,  of  minute  misanthropy  have  we,  as  we  leave  even 
the  rude  streets  of  Picardy  for  the  market  towns  of  Kent !  Until 
that  street  architecture  of  ours  is  bettered,  until  we  give  it  some  size 
and  boldness,  until  we  give  our  windows  recess,  and  our  walls  thick- 
ness, I  know  not  how  we  can  blame  our  architects  for  their  feebleness 
in  more  important  work ;  their  eyes  are  inured  to  narrowness  and 
slightness :  can  we  expect  them  at  a  word  to  conceive  and  deal  with 
breadth  and  sohdity  ?  They  ought  not  to  hve  in  our  cities  ;  there  is 
that  in  their  miserable  walls  which  bricks  up  to  death  men's  imagi- 
nations, as  surely  as  ever  perished  forsworn  nun.  An  architect 
should  hve  as  little  in  cities  as  a  painter.  Send  him  to  our  hills,  and 
let  him  study  there  what  nature  understands  by  a  buttress,  and 
what  by  a  dome.  There  was  something  in  the  old  power  of  archi- 
tecture, which  it  had  from  the  recluse  more  than  from  the  citizen. 
The  building-s  of  which  I  have  spoken  with  chief  praise,  rose,  indeed, 
out  of  the  war  of  the  piazza,  and  above  the  fuiy  of  the  populace : 
and  Heaven  forbid  that  for  such  cause  we  should  ever  have  to  lay  a 


B4  THE    LAMP    OF    POWER. 

larger  stone,  or  rivet  a  firmer  bar,  in  our  England  !  But  we  have 
other  sources  of  power,  in  the  imagery  of  our  iron  coasts  and  azure 
hills  ;  of  power  more  pure,  nor  less  serene,  than  that  of  the  hermit 
spirit  which  once  lighted  with  white  lines  of  cloisters  the  glades  of 
the  Alpine  pine,  and  raised  into  ordered  spires  the  wild  rocks  of  the 
Norman  sea  ;  which  gave  to  the  temple  gate  the  depth  and  darkness 
of  Elijah's  Horeb  cave ;  and  lifted,  out  of  the  populous  city,  grey 
clifis  of  lonely  stone,  into  the  midst  of  sailing  birds  and  silent  air. 


Jihn  '\\51e)'    IW    Broidv, 


• 


CHAPTER    IV. 


THE      LAMP      OF      BEAUTY. 


I.  It  was  stated,  in  the  outset  of  the  preceding  chapter,  that  the 
value  of  architecture  depended  on  two  distinct  characters :  tlie  one, 
the  impression  it  receives  from  human  power ;  the  other,  the  image 
it  bears  of  the  natural  creation.  I  have  endeavored  to  show  in 
what  manner  its  majesty  was  attributable  to  a  sjTnpathy  with  the 
effort  and  trouble  of  human  hfe  (a  sympathy  as  distinctly  perceived 
in  the  gloom  and  mystery  of  form,  as  it  is  in  the  melancholy  tones 
of  sounds).  I  desire  now  to  trace  that  happier  element  of  its 
excellence,  consisting  in  a  noble  rendering  of  images  of  Beauty, 
derived  chiefly  from  the  external  appearances  of  organic  nature. 

It  is  irrelevant  to  our  present  purpose  to  enter  into  any  inquiry 
respecting  the  essential  causes  of  impressions  of  beauty.  I  have 
partly  expressed  my  thoughts  on  this  matter  in  a  prenous  work, 
and  I  hope  to  develope  them  hereafter.  But  since  all  such  inquiiies 
can  only  be  founded  on  the  ordinary  undei-standing  of  what  is  meajit 
by  the  term  Beauty,  and  since  they  presume  that  the  feeling  of 
mankind  on  this  subject  is  universal  and  instinctive,  I  shall  base  my 
present  investigation  on  this  assumption  ;  and  only  asserting  that  to 
be  beautiful  which  I  believe  will  be  gi-anted  me  to  be  so  wthout 
dispute,  I  would  endeavor  shortly  to  trace  the  manner  in  which  this 
element  of  delight  is  to  be  best  engrafted  upon  architectural  design, 
■what  are  the  purest  sources  from  which  it  is  to  be  derived,  and 
what  the  erroi*s  to  be  avoided  in  its  pursuit. 

II.  It  \y\\\  be  thought  that  I  have  somewhat  rashly  limited  the 
elements  of  architectural  beauty  to  imitative  forms.  I  do  not  mean 
to  assert  that  every  arrangement  of  line  is  directly  suggested  by 
a  natural  object ;  but  that  all  beautiful  hues  are  adaptations  of  those 
which  are  commonest  in  the  external  creation ;  that  in  proportion  to 
the  richness  of  their  association,  the  resemblance  to  natural  work,  aa 


86  THE    LAMP    OK    BEAUTV. 

a  type  and  help,  must  bo  more  closely  attempted,  and  more  clearly 
seen ;  and  that  beyond  a  certain  point,  and  that  a  very  low  one, 
man  cannot  advance  in  the  invention  of  beauty,  without  directly 
imiUiting  natural  form.  Thus,  in  the  Doric  temple,  the  triolyj.h  and 
cornice  are  unimitative ;  or  imitative  only  of  artificial  cuttings  of 
wood.  No  one  would  call  these  members  beautiful.  Their  in- 
fluence over  us  is  in  their  severity  and  simplicity.  The  fluting  of 
the  column,  which  I  doubt  not  was  the  Greek  symbol  of  the  bark 
of  the  tree,  wjis  imitative  in  its  origin,  and  feebly  resembled  many 
canalieulated  organic  structures,  lieauty  is  instantly  felt  in  it,  but 
of  a  low  order.  The  decoration  proper  was  sought  in  the  true  forms 
of  organic  life,  and  those  chiefly  human.  Again  :  the  Doric  capital 
was  unimitative ;  but  all  the  beauty  it  had  was  dependent  on  the 
precision  of  its  ovolo,  a  natural  cur\e  of  the  most  frequent  occur- 
rence. The  Ionic  capital  (to  my  mind,  as  an  architectural  invention, 
exceedingly  base)  nevertheless  depended  for  all  the  beaut}'  that  it 
had  on  its  adoption  of  a  spiral  line,  perhaps  the  commonest  of  all 
that  characterise  the  inferior  orders  of  animal  organism  and  habita- 
tion. Farther  jjrogress  could  not  be  made  without  a  direct  imitation 
of  the  acanthus  leaf. 

Again :  the  Romanesque  arch  is  beautiful  as  an  abstract  line.  Its 
type  is  always  before  us  in  that  of  the  apparent  vault  of  heaven, 
and  horizon  of  the  earth.  The  cylindrical  pillar  is  always  beautiful, 
for  God  has  so  moulded  the  stem  of  every  tree  that  is  pleasant  to 
the  eyes.  The  pointed  arch  is  beautiful ;  it  is  the  termination  of 
everj'  leaf  that  shakes  in  summer  \\-ind,  and  its  most  fortunate 
associations  are  directly  borrowed  from  the  trefoiled  grass  of  the 
field,  or  from  the  stars  of  its  flowers.  Further  than  this,  man's 
invention  could  not  reach  without  frank  imitation.  His  next 
step  was  to  gather  the  flowei^s  themselves,  and  wreathe  them  in  liis 
CJijiitals. 

111.  Now,  I  would  insist  especially  on  the  fact,  of  which  1  doubt 
not  that  further  illustrations  will  occur  to  the  mind  of  ever}  reader, 
that  all  most  lo\ely  forms  and  thoughts  are  directly  tak.  i  from 
natural  objects ;  because  I  would  fain  be  allowed  to  assume  so  the 
converse  of  this,  namely,  that  forms  which  are  not  takei  from 
natural  objects  must  be  ugly.  I  know  this  is  a  bold  assunption ; 
but  as  I  have  not  space  to  reason  out  the  points  wherein  essential 
beauty  of  form  consists,  that  being  far   too  serious  a  work  to  be 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTr. 


undertaken  in  a  bye  way,  I  have  no  other  resoui-ce  than  to  use  thia 
accidental  mark  or  test  of  beauty,  of  whose  truth  the  considerations 
which  I  hope  hereafter  to  Uiy  before  the  reader  may  assure  him.  I 
say  an  accidental  mark,  since  forms  are  not  beautiful  because  they 
are  copied  from  nature ;  only  it  is  out  of  the  power  of  man  to  con- 
ceive beauty  without  her  aid.  I  believe  the  reader  will  grant  me 
this,  even  from  the  examples  above  advanced ;  the  degree  of  con- 
fidence wth  which  it  is  granted  must  attach  also  to  his  acceptance 
of  the  conclusions  which  will  follow  from  it ;  but  if  it  be  gi-anted 
frankly,  it  will  enable  me  to  determine  a  matter  of  very  essential 
importance,  namely,  what  is  or  is  not  ornament.  For  there  are 
many  forms  of  so  called  decoration  in  architecture,  habitual,  and 
received,  therefore,  with  approval,  or  at  all  events  without  any 
venture  at  expression  or  dislike,  which  I  have  no  hesitation  in  assert- 
uig  to  be  not  ornament  at  all,  but  to  be  ugly  things,  the  expense  of 
which  ought  in  truth  to  be  set  down  in  the  architect's  contract,  as 
"For  Alonstrification."  I  beheve  that  we  regard  these  customary 
deformities  with  a  savage  complacency,  as  an  Indian  does  his  flesh 
patterns  and  paint  (all  nations  being  in  certain  degrees  and  senses 
savage).  I  believe  that  I  can  prove  them  to  be  monstrous,  and  I 
hope  hereafter  to  do  so  conclusively  ;  but,  meantime,  I  can  allege  in 
defence  of  my  pei-suasion  nothing  but  this  fact  of  their  being  im- 
natural,  to  which  the  reader  must  attach  such  weight  as  he  thinks 
it  deserves.  There  is,  hoAvever,  a  peculiar  difficulty  in  using  this 
proof;  it  requires  the  writer  to  assume,  very  impertinently,  that 
nothing  is  natural  but  what  he  has  seen  or  su})poses  to  exist.  I 
would  not  do  this ;  for  I  sujtpose  there  is  no  conceivable  form  or 
grouping  of  forms  but  in  some  part  of  the  universe  an  example  of  it 
may  be  found.  But  I  think  I  am  justified  in  considering  those 
forms  to  be  most  natural  which  are  most  fi-equent ;  or,  rather,  that 
on  the  shapes  which  in  the  every  day  world  are  familiar  to  the  eyes 
of  men,  God  has  stamped  those  characters  of  beauty  which  He  has 
made  it  man's  nature  to  love  ;  while  in  certain  exceptional  forms  He 
has  shown  that  the  adoption  of  the  others  was  not  a  matter  of 
necessity,  but  part  of  the  adjusted  harmony  of  creation.  I  believe 
that  thus  we  may  reason  from  Frequency  to  Beauty,  and  vice  versa  ; 
that  knowing  a  thing  to  be  frequent,  we  may  assume  it  to  be 
beautiful ;  and  assume  that  which  is  most  frequent  to  be  most 
beautiful :  I  mean,   of  course,  visibly  frequent ;  for  the  forms  of 


88  THE    LAMP    OF   BBAttTT. 

things  which  are  hidden  in  caverns  of  the  earth,  or  in  the  anatomy 
of  animal  frames,  are  evidently  not  intended  by  their  Maker  to  bear 
the  habitual  gaze  of  man.  And,  ijpain,  by  frequency  I  mean  that 
limited  and  isolated  frequency  which  is  characteristic  of  all  perfec- 
tion ;  not  mere  multitude :  as  a  rose  is  a  common  flower,  but  yet 
there  are  not  so  many  roses  on  the  tree  as  there  are  leaves.  In  this 
respect  Nature  is  sparing  of  her  highest,  and  la\'ish  of  her  less, 
beauty  ;  but  I  call  the  flower  as  frequent  as  the  leaf,  because,  each 
in  its  allotted  quantity,  where  the  one  is,  there  will  ordinarily  be  the 
other. 

IV.  The  first  so-called  ornament,  then,  which  I  would  attack  is 
that  Greek  fret,  now,  I  beheve,  usunll}  kjiown  by  the  Itahan  name 
Guilloche,  which  is  exactly  a  case  in  point.  It  so  happens  that  in 
crystals  of  bismuth,  formed  t>y  the  imagitated  cooling  of  the  melted 
metal,  there  occurs  a  natural  resemblance  of  it  almost  perfect.  But 
crystals  of  bismuth  not  only  are  of  unusual  occurrence  in  every -day 
hfe,  but  their  form  is,  as  far  as  I  know,  unique  among  minerals  ;  and 
not  only  unique,  but  only  attainable  by  an  artificial  process,  the 
metal  itself  never  being  found  pure.  I  do  not  remember  any  other 
substance  or  arrangement  which  presents  a  resemblance  to  this 
Greek  ornament ;  and  I  think  that  I  may  trust  my  remembrance  as 
including  most  of  the  arrangements  which  occur  in  the  outward 
forms  of  common  and  fomiliar  things.  On  this  ground,  then,  I 
allege  that  ornament  to  be  ugly  ;  or,  in  the  literal  sense  of  tlie  word, 
monstrous ;  chft'erent  from  anything  which  it  is  the  nature  of  man 
to  admire :  and  I  think  an  uncarved  fillet  or  plinth  infinitely 
preferable  to  one  covered  with  this  vile  conciitenation  of  straight 
lines :  unless  indeed  it  be  employed  as  a  foil  to  a  true  ornament, 
which  it  may,  perhaps,  sometimes  ^ntli  advantage  ;  or  excessively 
small,  as  it  occurs  on  coins,  the  harshness  of  its  arrangement  being 
less  perceived. 

V.  Often  in  association  \\-ith  this  horrible  design  we  find,  in  Greek 
works,  one  which  is  ;is  beautiful  as  tins  is  painful — that  egg  and 
dart  moulding,  whose  perfection,  in  its  place  and  way,  has  never 
been  surpassed.  And  why  is  this  ?  Simply  because  the  form  of 
which  it  is  chiefly  composed  is  one  not  only  familiar  to  us  in  the  soft 
housing  of  the  bird's  nest,  but  hap])ons  to  be  that  of  nearly  every 
pebble  that  rolls  and  murmurs  under  the  surf  of  the  sea,  on  all  its 
endless  shore.     And  v\ith  that  a  peculiar  accuracy  ;  for  tlie  mass  which 


THE    T.AMP    OF    BEAITTY.  81>. 

bears  the  light  in  this  moulding  is  not  in  good  Greek  work,  as  in 
the  frieze  of  the  Ereehtheum,  merely  of  the  shape  of  an  egg.  It 
is  fiattened  on  the  upper  surface,  ^y\\h.  a  delicacy  and  keen  sense 
of  variety  in  the  curve  which  it  is  impossible  too  highly  to  praise, 
attaining  exactly  that  flattened,  imperfect  oval,  which,  in  nine  Ccxses 
out  of  ten,  -will  be  the  form  of  the  pebble  lifted  at  random  from  the 
rolled  beach.  Leave  out  this  flatness,  and  the  moulding  is  vulgar 
instantly.  It  is  singular  also  that  the  insertion  of  this  rounded  form 
in  the  hollowed  recess  has  a  painted  type  in  the  plumage  of  the 
Argus  pheasant,  the  eyes  of  whose  feathers  are  so  shaded  as  exactly 
to  represent  an  oval  form  placed  in  a  hollow. 

VI.  It  will  e\idently  follow,  upon  our  application  of  this  test  of 
natural  resemblance,  that  we  shall  at  once  conclude  that  all  perfectly 
beautiful  forms  must  be  composed  of  curves  ;  since  there  is  hardly 
any  common  natural  form  in  which  it  is  possible  to  discover  a 
straight  line.  Nevertheless,  Architecture,  ha\'ing  necessarily  to  deal 
with  straight  hues  essential  to  its  purposes  in  many  instances  and  to 
the  expression  of  its  power  in  others,  must  frequently  be  content 
with  that  measure  of  beauty  which  is  consistent  with  such  primal 
forms ;  and  we  may  presume  that  utmost  measure  of  beauty  to 
have  been  attained  when  the  arrangements  of  such  hues  are 
consistent  with  the  most  frequent  natural  groupings  of  them  we  can 
discover,  although,  to  find  right  lines  in  nature  at  all,  we  may  be 
compelled  to  do  \-iolence  to  her  finished  work,  break  through  the 
sculptured  and  colored  surfaces  of  her  crag^,  and  examine  the 
processes  of  their  crystallisation. 

VII.  I  have  just  con\icted  the  Greek  fret  of  ughness,  because  it 
has  no  precedent  to  allege  for  its  arrangement  except  an  artificial 
form  of  a  rare  metal.  Let  us  bring  into  court  an  ornament  of 
Lombard  architects,  Plate  XII.  fig.  7,  as  exclusively  composed  of 
right  lines  as  the  other,  only,  observe,  with  the  noble  element 
of  shadow  added.  Tliis  ornament,  taken  from  the  front  of  the 
Cathedral  of  Pisa,  is  universal  throughout  the  Lombard  churches  ■-» 
of  Pisa,  Lucca,  Pistoja,  and  Florence ;  and  it  will  be  a  grave  stain 

upon  them  if  it  cannot  be  defended.  Its  first  apology  for  itself, 
made  in  a  hiuT}-,  sounds  marvellously  hke  the  Greek  one,  and  highly 
dubious.  It  says  that  its  terminal  contour  is  the  very  image  of  a 
carefully  prepared  artificial  crystal  of  common  salt.  Salt  being, 
however,  a  substance  considerably  more  famihar  to  us  than  bismuth, 


90  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

the  chances  are  somewhat  in  favor  of  the  accused  Lombard  ornament 
ahead}-.  But  it  has  more  to  say  for  itself,  and  more  to  the  purpose ; 
namely,  that  its  main  outline  is  one  not  oidy  of  natural  crystallisation, 
but  amonjr  the  very  first  and  commonest  of  crj'stalhne  forms,  being 
the  i)rimal  condition  of  the  occurrence  of  the  oxides  of  iron,  copper, 
and  tin,  of  the  sulphurets  of  iron  and  lead,  of  fluor  spar,  <te. ;  and 
that  those  projectinji^  forms  in  its  surface  represent  the  conditions 
of  structure  which  etiect  the  change  into  another  relative  and  equally 
common  crystalline  form,  the  cube.  This  is  quite  enough.  We 
may  rest  assured  it  is  as  good  a  combination  of  such  simple  right 
lines  as  can  be  put  together,  and  gracefully  fitted  for  every  place  in 
which  such  linos  are  necessary. 

VIll.  The  next  ornament  whose  cause  I  would  try  is  that  of  our 
Tudor  work,  the  portcullis.  Reticulation  is  common  enough  in 
natural  form,  and  very  beautiful ;  but  it  is  either  of  the  most  delicate 
and  gauzy  texture,  or  of  variously  sized  meshes  and  undulating 
lines.  There  is  no  family  relation  between  portcullis  and  cobwel)s 
or  beetles'  wings ;  something  like  it,  perhaps,  may  be  found  in  some 
kinds  of  crocodile  armor  and  on  the  backs  of  the  Xorthern  divers, 
but  always  beautifully  varied  in  size  of  mesh.  There  is  a  dignity  in 
the  thing  itself,  if  its  size  were  exhibited,  and  the  shade  given 
through  its  bars  ;  but  even  these  merits  are  taken  away  in  the  Tudor 
diminution  of  it,  set  on  a  solid  surface.  It  luis  not  a  single  syllable, 
I  beUeve,  to  say  in  its  detence.  Jt  is  another  monster,  absolutely 
and  unnntigatedly  frightful.  All  that  carving  on  Henry  the 
Seventh's  Chapel  simjily  deforms  the  stones  of  it. 

In  the  same  clause  with  the  portcullis,  we  may  condemn  all 
heraldic  decoration,  so  far  as  beauty  is  its  object.  Its  pride  and 
significance  have  their  proper  place,  fitly  occurring  in  prominent 
parts  of  the  building,  as  over  its  gates ;  and  allowably  in  places 
where  its  legendary  may  be  plainly  read,  as  in  j>ainted  windows, 
Ix>sses  of  ceilings,  &c.  And  sometimes,  of  coui-se,  the  forms  which 
it  presents  may  be  beautiful,  as  of  animals,  or  simj)le  symbols  like 
the  fleui'-de-hs ;  but,  for  the  most  part,  heraldic  similitudes  and 
lUTangements  are  so  professedly  and  pointedly  imnatural,  that  it 
would  be  difficult  to  invent  anything  uglier ;  and  the  use  of  them 
as  a  repeated  decoration  will  utterly  destroy  both  the  power  and 
beauty  of  any  building.  Common  sense  and  courtesy  also  forbid 
their  repetition.     It  is  right  to  tell  those  who  enter  your  doors  that 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  91 

you  are  such  a  one,  and  of  such  a  rank  ;  but  to  tell  it  to  them  again 
and  again,  wherever  they  turn,  becomes  soon  impertinence,  and  at 
last  folly.  Let,  therefore,  the  entire  bearing-s  occur  in  few  places, 
and  these  not  considered  as  an  ornament,  but  as  an  inscription  ;  and 
for  frequent  ajipliance,  let  any  single  and  fair  symbol  be  chosen  out 
of  them.  Thus  we  may  multiply  as  much  as  we  choose  the  French 
fleur-de-lis,  or  the  Florentine  giglio  bianco,  or  the  English  rose ;  but 
we  must  not  multiply  a  Iving's  arms. 

IX.  It  will  also  follow,  from  these  considerations,  that  if  any  one 
part  of  herakhc  decoration  be  worse  than  another,  it  is  the  motto  ; 
since,  of  all  things  unlike  nature,  the  forms  of  lettere  are,  perhaps,  the 
most  so.  Even  gTaphic  tellurium  and  felspar  look,  at  their  clearest, 
anything  but  legible.  All  letters  are,  therefore,  to  be  considered  as 
frightful  things,  and  to  be  endured  only  upon  occasion  ;  that  is  to 
say,  in  places  where  the  sense  of  the  inscription  is  of  more 
importance  than  external  ornament.  Inscriptions  in  churches,  in 
rooms,  and  on  pictures,  are  often  desirable,  but  they  are  not  to  be 
considered  as  architectural  or  pictorial  ornaments  :  they  are,  on  the 
contrary,  obstinate  oiiences  to  the  eye,  not  to  be  suffered  except 
when  their  intellectual  office  introduces  them.  Place  them, 
therefore,  where  they  will  be  read,  and  there  only  ;  and  let  them  be 
plainly  -wTitten,  and  not  turned  upside  down,  nor  wrong  end  tirst. 
It  is  an  ill  sacrilice  to  beauty  to  make  that  illegible  whose  only  merit 
is  in  its  sense.  Write  it  as  you  woixld  speak  it,  simply ;  and  do  not 
draw  the  eye  to  it  when  it  would  fain  rest  elsewhere,  nor  recommend 
your  sentence  by  anytliing  but  a  little  openness  of  place  and 
architectural  silence  about  it.  AVrite  the  Commandments  on  the 
church  walls  where  they  may  be  plainly  seen,  but  do  not  put  a  dash 
and  a  tail  to  every  letter  ;  and  remember  that  you  are  an  architect, 
not  a  writing  master. 

X.  Inscriptions  appear  sometimes  to  be  introduced  for  the  sake 
of  the  scroll  on  which  they  are  Aratten  ;  and  in  late  and  UKjdern 
painted  glass,  as  well  as  in  architecture,  these  scrolls  are  flourished 
and  turned  hither  and  thither  as  if  they  were  ornamental. 
Ribands  occur  frequently  in  arabesques, — in  some  of  a  high  order, 
too, — tying  up  flowers,  or  flitting  in  and  out  among  the  fixed  forms. 
Is  there  anvthing  like  ribands  in  nature  ?  It  might  be  thought  that 
grass  and  sea-weed  afforded  apologetic  types.  They  do  not.  There 
is  a  wide  diflerence  between  their  structiu-e  and  that  of  a  riband. 


92  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

They  have  a  skeleton,  an  anatomy,  a  central  rib,  or  fibre,  or  frame- 
work of  some  kind  or  another,  which  has  a  beginning  and  an  end, 
a  root  and  head,  and  whose  make  and  strength  effects  every 
direction  of  their  motion,  and  every  line  of  their  form.  The  loosest 
Aveed  that  drifts  and  waves  undLr  the  heaving  of  the  sea,  or  hangs 
heavily  on  the  brown  and  slippery  shore,  has  a  marked  strength, 
structure,  elasticity,  gradation  of  substance  ;  its  extremities  are  more 
finely  fibred  than  its  centre,  its  centre  than  its  root :  every  fork  of 
its  ramification  is  measured  and  proportioned  ;  every  wave  of  its 
languid  lines  is  love.  It  has  its  allotted  size,  and  jjlace,  and  function  ; 
it  is  a  specific  creature.  What  is  there  like  this  in  a  riband  ?  It  has 
no  structure  :  it  is  a  succession  of  cut  threads  all  alike  ;  it  has  no 
skeleton,  no  make,  no  form,  no  size,  no  will  of  its  own.  You  cut  it 
and  crush  it  into  what  you  will.  It  has  no  strength,  no  languor. 
It  cannot  fall  into  a  single  graceful  form.  It  cannot  wave,  in  the 
true  sense,  but  only  flutter  :  it  cannot  bend,  in  the  true  sense,  but 
only  turn  and  be  wrinkled.  It  is  a  vile  thing  ;  it  spoils  all  that  is 
near  its  wretched  film  of  an  existence.  Never  use  it.  Let  the 
flowers  come  loose  if  they  cannot  keep  together  without  being  tied  ; 
leave  the  sentence  unwritten  if  you  cannot  write  it  on  a  tablet  or 
book,  or  plain  roll  of  paper.  I  know  what  authority  there  is  against 
me.  I  remember  the  scrolls  of  Perugino's  angels,  and  the  ribands 
of  Raphael's  arabesques,  and  of  Ghiberti's  glorious  bronze  flowers  : 
no  matter ;  they  ai'e  every  one  of  them  vices  and  uglinesses. 
Raphael  usually  felt  this,  and  used  an  honest  and  rational  tablet,  as 
in  the  Madonna  cU  Fuligno.  I  do  not  say  there  is  any  type  of  such 
tablets  in  nature,  but  all  the  dift'erence  lies  in  th<>  fact  that  the  tablet 
is  not  considered  as  an  urnament,  and  the  riband,  or  flying  scroll,  is. 
The  tablet,  as  in  Albert  Durcr's  Adam  and  Eve,  is  introduced  for  tho 
sake  of  the  writing,  understood  and  allowed  as  an  ugly  but  necessary 
interrujjtion.  The  scroll  is  extended  as  an  ornamental  form,  which 
it  is  not,  nor  ever  can  be. 

XI.  But  it  will  be  said  that  all  this  want  of  organisation  and 
form  might  be  affirmed  of  drapery  also,  antl  that  this  latter  is  a 
noble  subject  of  sculi)ture.  Yiy  no  means.  U'hen  w;vs  drapery  a 
subject  of  sculpture  by  itself,  except  in  the  form  of  a  handkerchief 
on  urns  in  the  seventeenth  century  and  in  some  of  the  baser  scenic 
Italian  decorations  ?  Drapery,  as  such,  is  always  ignoble ;  it 
becomes  a  subject  of  interest  only  by  the  colors  it  bears,  and  the 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  9$ 

impressions  which  it  receives  from  some  foreign  form  or  force.  All 
noble  di'aperies,  either  in  painting  or  sculpture  (color  and  texture 
being  at  present  out  of  our  consideration),  have,  so  far  as  they  are 
anything  more  than  necessities,  one  of  two  great  functions ;  they  are 
the  exponents  of  motion  and  of  gravitation.  They  are  the  most 
valuable  means  of  expressing  past  as  ■well  as  present  motion  in  the 
figure,  and  they  are  almost  the  only  means  of  indicating  to  the  eye 
the  force  of  gravity  which  resists  such  motion.  The  Greeks  used 
drapery  in  sculpture  for  the  most  part  as  an  ugly  necessity,  but 
availed  themselves  of  it  gladly  in  all  representation  of  action, 
exaggerating  the  arrangements  of  it  which  express  lightness  in  the 
material,  and  follow  gesture  in  the  person.  The  Christian  sculptors, 
caaing  little  for  the  body,  or  disliking  it,  and  depending  exclusively 
on  the  countenance,  received  drapery  at  first  contentedly  as  a  veil, 
but  soon  perceived  a  capacity  of  expression  in  it  which  the  Greek 
had  not  seen  or  had  despised.  The  principal  element  of  this 
expression  was  the  entire  removal  of  agitation  fi'om  what  was  so  pre- 
eminently capable  of  being  agitated.  It  fell  from  their  human 
forms  plumb  down,  sweeping  the  ground  heavily,  and  concealing  the 
feet ;  while  the  Greek  drapery  was  often  blown  away  from  the 
thigh.  The  thick  and  coarse  stuff's  of  the  monkish  dresses,  so 
absolutely  opposed  to  the  thin  and  gauzy  web  of  antique  material, 
suggested  simplicity  of  division  as  well  as  weight  of  fall.  There 
was  no  crushing  nor  subdividing  them.  And  thus  the  drapery 
gi-adually  came  to  represent  the  spirit  of  repose  as  it  before  had  of 
motion,  repose  saintly  and  severe.  The  wind  had  no  power  upon 
the  garment,  as  the  passion  none  ujjon  the  soul ;  and  the  motion  of 
the  figure  only  bent  into  a  softer  line  the  stillness  of  the  falhng  veil, 
followed  by  it  like  a  slow  cloud  by  drooping  rain  :  only  in  hnks  of 
lighter  undulation  it  followed  the  dances  of  the  angels. 

Thus  treated,  drapery  is  indeed  noble  ;  but  it  is  as  an  exponent 
of  other  and  higher  things.  As  that  of  gravitation,  it  has  especial 
majesty,  being  hterally  the  only  means  we  have  of  fully  representing 
this  mysterious  natural  force  of  earth  (for  falhng  water  is  less 
passive  and  less  defined  in  its  lines).  So,  ^gain,  in  sails  it  is 
beautiful  because  it  receives  the  forms  of  solid  curved  surface,  and 
expresses  the  force  of  another  iuNasible  element.  But  drapery 
trusted  to  its  own  merits,  and  given  for  its  own  sake, — di'apery  like 
that  of  Carlo  Dolci  and  the  Caraccis, — ia  always  base. 


94  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

XII.  Closely  connected  with  tlie  abuse  of  scrolls  and  bands,  is 
that  of  garlands  and  festoons  of  flowers  as  an  architectural 
decoration,  f  jr  unnatural  arran<;einents  are  just  as  ui^ly  as  unnatural 
forms ;  and  architecture,  in  borrowing  the  oVyects  of  nature,  is 
bound  to  ]>lace  them,  as  far  as  may  be  in  her  power,  in  such 
associations  as  may  befit  and  express  their  origin.  She  is  not  to 
imitate  directly  the  natural  arrangement;  she  is  not  to  carve 
iiTcgular  stems  of  ivy  up  her  columits  to  account  for  the  leaves  at  the 
toj),  but  she  is  nevertheless  to  place  her  most  exuberant  vegetable 
ornament  just  where  Nature  would  have  placed  it,  and  to  give  some 
indication  of  that  radical  and  connected  structure  which  Nature 
would  have  given  it.  Thus  the  Corinthian  capital  is  beautiful, 
because  it  expands  under  the  abacus  just  as  Nature  would  have 
expanded  it ;  and  bec^iuse  it  looks  as  if  the  leaves  had  one  root, 
though  that  root  is  unseen.  And  the  flamboyant  leaf  mouldings 
are  beautiful,  because  they  nestle  and  run  up  the  hollows,  and  fill 
the  angles,  and  clasp  the  shafts  which  natural  leaves  would  have 
delighted  to  fill  and  to  clasp.  They  are  no  mere  cast  of  natural 
leaves  :  they  are  counted,  orderly,  and  architectural :  but  they  are 
naturally,  and  therefore  beautifully,  placed. 

XIII.  Now  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Nature  never  uses  festoons : 
she  loves  them,  and  uses  them  lavishly ;  and  though  she  does  so 
only  in  those  jilaces  of  excessive  luxuriance  wherein  it  seems  to  mc 
that  architectural  types  should  seldom  be  sought,  yet  a  falling  tendril 
or  pendent  Iwugh  might,  if  managed  with  freedom  and  grace,  be 
well  introduced  into  luxuriant  decoration  (or  if  not,  it  is  not  their 
want  of  beauty,  but  of  architectural  fitness,  which  incapacitates 
them  for  such  uses).  But  what  resemblance  to  such  example  can 
we  trace  in  a  mass  of  all  manner  of  fi'uit  and  flowers,  tied  heavily 
into  a  long  bunch,  thickest  in  the  middle,  and  pinned  up  by  both 
ends  against  a  dead  wall  ?  For  it  is  strange  that  the  '^^^ldest  and 
most  fanciful  of  the  builders  of  truly  luxuriant  architecture  never 
ventured,  so  far  as  I  know,  even  a  pendent  tendril ;  while  the 
severest  masters  of  the  rcNived  Greek  permitted  this  extraordinary 
piece  of  luscious  ugHness  to  be  fii.stened  in  the  middle  of  their  blank 
surfaces.  So  surely  as  this  arrangement  is  adopted,  the  whole  value 
of  the  flowerwork  is  lost.  Who  among  the  crowds  that  gaze  upon 
the  building  ever  pause  to  admire  the  flower  work  of  St.  Paul's  ?  It 
is  as  careful  and  as  rich  as  it  can  be,  yet  it  adds  no  dehghtfulness  to 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  95 

the  edifice.  It  is  no  part  of  it.  It  is  an  ugly  excrescence.  We 
always  conceive  the  building  without  it,  and  should  be  happier  if 
our  conception  were  not  disturbed  by  its  presence.  It  makes  the 
rest  of  the  architecture  look  poverty-stricken,  instead  of  sublime  ; 
and  yet  it  is  never  enjoyed  itself.  Had  it  been  put,  where  it  ouglit, 
into  the  capitals,  it  would  have  been  beheld  Avith  never-ceasing 
delight.  I  do  not  mean  that  it  could  have  been  so  in  the  present 
building,  for  such  kind  of  architecture  has  no  business  with  rich 
ornament  in  any  place  ;  but  that  if  those  groups  of  flowers  had  been 
]>ut  into  natural  places  in  an  edifice  of  another  style,  their  value  would 
have  been  felt  as  \i\-idly  as  now  theii'  usele&sness.  What  applies  to 
festoons  is  still  more  sternly  true  of  garlands.  A  garland  is  meant 
to  be  seen  upon  a  head.  There  it  is  beautiful,  because  we  suppose 
it  newly  gathered  and  jo}-fally  worn.  But  it  is  not  meant  to  be 
hung  upon  a  wall.  If  you  want  a  circular  ornament,  put  a  flat 
circle  of  colored  marble,  as  in  the  Casa  Darlo  and  other  such 
palaces  at  Venice ;  or  put  a  star,  or  a  medallion,  or  if  you  want  a 
ring,  put  a  sohd  one,  but  do  not  carve  the  images  of  garlands, 
looking  as  if  they  had  been  used  in  the  last  procession,  and  been 
hung  up  to  dry,  and  serve  next  time  withered.  Why  not  also 
carve  pegs,  and  hats  upon  them  ? 

XIV.  One  of  the  worst  enemies  of  modern  Gothic  architecture, 
though  seemingly  an  unimportant  feature,  is  an  excrescence,  as 
offensive  bv  its  poverty  as  the  garland  by  its  profusion,  the  dripstone 
in  the  shape  of  the  handle  of  a  chest  of  drawers,  which  is  used  over 
the  square-headed  windows  of  what  we  call  Elizabethan  buildings. 
In  the  last  Chapter,  it  will  be  remembered  that  the  square  form  w^as 
shown  to  be  that  of  pre-eminent  Power,  and  to  be  properly  adapted 
and  limited  to  the  exhibition  of  space  or  surface.  Hence,  when  the 
window  is  to  be  an  exponent  of  power,  as  for  instance  in  those  by 
M.  Angelo  in  the  lower  story  of  the  Palazzo  Ricardi  at  Florence,  the 
square  head  ls  the  most  noble  form  they  can  assume ;  but  then 
either  their  space  must  be  unbroken,  and  their  associated  moulding-s 
the  most  severe,  or  else  the  square  must  be  used  as  a  finial  outline, 
and  is  chiefly  to  be  associated  with  forms  of  tracery,  in  which  the 
relative  form  of  power,  the  circle,  is  predominant,  as  in  Venetian, 
and  Florentine,  and  Pisan  Gothic.  But  if  you  break  upon  your 
terminal  square,  or  if  you  cut  its  hues  ofi"  at  the  top  and  turn  them 
outwards,  you  have  lost  its  unity  and  space.     It  is  an  including  form 


96  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

no  longer,  but  an  added,  isolated  line,  and  the  ugliest  possible. 
Look  abroad  into  the  landscape  and  see  if  you  can  discover  any  one 
so  bent  and  fragmentary  as  that  of  this  strange  windlass-looking 
dripstone.  You  cannot.  It  is  a  monster.  It  unites  every  element 
of  ugliness,  its  line  is  harshly  broken  in  itself,  and  unconnected  with 
every  other  ;  it  has  no  harmony  either  with  structure  or  decoration, 
it  has  no  architectural  support,  it  looks  glued  to  the  wall,  and  the 
only  plea-sant  property  it  has,  is  the  appearance  of  some  Ukelihood 
of  its  dropping  otf. 

I  might  proceed,  but  the  task  is  a  weary  one,  and  I  think  I  have 
named  those  false  forms  of  decoration  which  are  most  dangerous  in 
our  modern  architecture  as  being  legal  and  accepted.  The  barba- 
risms of  indi\idual  fancy  are  as  countless  as  they  are  contemptible  ; 
they  neither  admit  attack  nor  are  worth  it ;  but  these  above  named 
are  countenanced,  some  by  the  practice  of  antiquity,  all  by  high 
authority  :  they  have  depressed  the  proudest,  and  contaminated  the 
purest  schools,  and  are  so  established  in  recent  practice  that  I  write 
rather  for  the  barren  satisfaction  of  bearing  witness  against  them, 
than  with  hope  of  inducing  any  serious  connctions  to  their  pre- 
judice. 

XV.  Thus  far  of  what  is  not  ornament.  What  ornament  is,  will 
A^athout  difficulty  be  determined  by  the  application  of  the  same  test. 
It  must  consist  of  such  studious  arrangements  of  form  as  are  imita- 
tive or  suggestive  of  those  which  are  commonest  among  natural 
existences,  that  being  of  course  the  noblest  ornament  which  repre- 
sents the  highest  orders  of  existence.  Imitated  flowers  are  nobler 
than  imitated  stones,  imitated  animals  than  flowers  ;  imitated 
human  form  of  all  animal  t\)rms  the  nublest.  But  all  are  combined 
in  the  richest  ornamental  work ;  and  the  rock,  the  fountain,  the 
flowing  river  \\\th  its  pebbled  bed,  the  sea,  the  clouds  of  Heaven, 
the  herb  of  the  field,  the  fruit-tree  bearing  fruit,  the  creeping  thing, 
the  bird,  the  beast,  the  man,  and  the  angel,  mingle  their  fair  forms 
on  the  bronze  of  (Jhiberti. 

Every  thing  being  then  ornamental  that  is  imitative,  I  would  ask 
the  reader's  attention  to  a  few  general  considerations,  all  that  can 
here  be  oflfered  relating  to  so  vast  a  subject ;  which,  for  convenience 
sake,  may  be  classed  under  the  three  heads  of  inquiry  : — What  ia 
the  right  place  for  architectural  ornament  ?  What  is  the  peculiar 
treatment  of  ornament  which  renders  it  architectural  \  and  what  is 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  97 

the  right  use  of  color  as  associated  witfi  architectural   imitative 
form  ? 

XVI.  What  is  the  place  for  ornament  ?  Consider  first  that  the 
characters  of  natiu-al  objects  which  the  architect  can  represent  are 
few  and  abstract.  The  greater  part  of  those  delights  by  which 
Nature  recommends  herself  to  man  at  all  times,  cannot  be  conveyed 
by  him  into  his  imitative  work.  He  cannot  make  his  gi'ass  gTeen 
and  cool  and  good  to  rest  upon,  which  in  nature  is  its  chief  use  to 
man  ;  nor  can  he  make  his  flow^ei-s  tender  and  full  of  color  and 
of  scent,  which  in  nature  are  theh  chief  powers  of  giving  joy.  Those 
qualities  which  alone  he  can  secure  are  certain  severe  character  of 
form,  such  as  men  only  see  in  nature  on  deliberate  examination,  and 
by  the  fiill  and  set  appliance  of  sight  and  thought :  a  man  must  lie 
dpwn  on  the  bank  of  grass  on  his  breast  and  set  himself  to  watch 
and  penetrate  the  intertwining  of  it,  before  he  finds  that  which  is 
good  to  be  gathered  by  the  architect.  So  then  wlule  Nature  is  at 
all  times  pleasant  to  us,  and  while  the  sight  and  sense  of  her  work 
may  mingle  happily  with  all  our  thoughts,  and  labors,  and  times  of 
existence,  that  image  of  her  which  the  architect  carries  away  repre- 
sents what  we  can  only  perceive  in  her  by  direct  intellectual  exer- 
tion, and  demands  from  us,  wherever  it  appeare,  an  intellectual 
exertion  of  a  similar  kind  in  order  to  imderstand  it  and  feel  it.  It 
is  the  written  or  sealed  impression  of  a  thing  sought  out,  it  is  the 
shaped  result  of  inquiry  and  bodily  expression  of  thought. 

XVII.  Now  let  us  consider  for  an  instant  what  would  be  the 
effect  of  continually  repeatmg  an  expression  of  a  beautiful  thought 
to  any  other  of  the  senses  at  times  when  the  mind  could  not  addiess 
that  sense  to  the  understanding  of  it.  Suppose  that  in  time  of 
serious  occupation,  of  stern  business,  a  companion  should  repeat  in 
our  ears  continually  some  favorite  passage  of  poetry,  over  and  over 
again  all  day  long.  We  should  not  only  soon  be  utterly  sick  and 
weary  of  the  sound  of  it,  but  that  sound  would  at  the  end  of  the 
day  have  so  sunk  into  the  habit  of  the  ear  that  the  entire  meaning 
of  the  passage  would  be  dead  to  us,  and  it  would  ever  thenceforward 
reqiure  some  eftbrt  to  fix  and  recover  it.  The  music  of  it  would  not 
meanwhile  have  aided  the  business  in  hand,  while  its  owa  delight- 
fulness  would  thenceforward  be  in  a  measure  destroyed.  It  is  the 
same  with  every  other  form  of  definite  thought.  If  you  violently 
present  its  expression  to  the  senses,  at  times  when  the  mind  is  other- 

6 


98  TiJE     LAMP     OF    BEAUTY. 

wise  engaged,  that  exj^ssiuii  will  be  ineffective  at  the  time,  and 
will  have  its  sharpness  and  clearness  destroyed  for  ever.  Much 
jnore  if  you  present  it  to  the  mind  at  times  when  it  is  painfully 
aifocted  or  disturbed,  or  if  you  associate  the  expression  of  pleasant 
thought  with  incongruous  circumstances,  you  will  aft'ect  that  expres- 
sion thenceforward  with  a  painful  color  for  ever. 

XVIII.  Apply  this  to  expressions  of  thought  received  by  the  eye. 
Remember  that  the  eye  is  at  your  mercy  more  than  the  ear,  "  The 
eye  it  cannot  choose  but  see."  Its  nerve  is  not  so  easily  numbed  as 
that  of  the  ear,  and  it  is  often  busied  in  tracing  and  watching  forms 
when  the  ear  is  at  rest.  Now  if  you  present  lovely  forms  to  it 
when  it  cannot  call  the  mind  to  help  it  in  its  work,  and  among 
objects  of  vulgar  use  and  unhappy  position,  you  will  neither  please 
the  eye  nor  elevate  the  Milgar  object.  But  you  will  fill  and  weary 
the  eye  •with  the  beautiful  form,  and  you  will  infect  that  form  itself 
with  the  vulgarity  of  the  thing  to  which  you  have  violently  attached 
it.  It  will  never  be  of  much  use  to  you  any  more  ;  you  have  killed 
or  defiled  it ;  its  freshness  and  purity  are  gone.  You  will  have  to 
pass  it  through  the  fire  of  much  thought  before  you  will  cleanse  it, 
and  warm  it  with  much  love  before  it  will  revive. 

XIX.  Hence  then  a  general  law,  of  singular  importance  in  the 
present  day,  a  law  of  simple  common  sense, — not  to  decorate  things 
belonging  to  purposes  of  active  and  occupied  life.  Wherever  you 
can  rest,  there  decorate ;  where  rest  is  forbidden,  so  is  beauty.  You 
must  not  mix  ornament  with  business,  any  more  than  you  may  mix 
play.  Work  first,  and  then  rest.  AVork  first  and  then  gaze,  but  do 
not  use  golden  jiloughshares,  nor  bind  ledgei"s  in  enamel  Do  not 
thrash  wth  sculptiu-ed  flails:  nor  put  bas-reliefe  on  millstones. 
What !  it  will  be  asked,  are  we  in  the  habit  of  doing  so  ?  Even  so ; 
always  and  everywhere.  The  most  familiar  position  of  Greek 
mouldings  is  in  these  days  on  shop  fronts.  There  is  not  a  trades- 
man's sign  nor  shelf  nor  counter  in  all  the  streets  of  all  our  cities, 
which  has  not  upon  it  ornaments  which  were  invented  to  adorn 
temples  and  beautify  kings'  palaces.  There  is  not  the  smallest 
advantage  in  them  where  they  are.  Absolutely  valueless — utterly 
without  the  power  of  giving  pleasure,  they  only  satiate  the  eye,  and 
vulgarise  their  own  forms.  Many  of  these  are  in  themselves 
thoroughly  good  copies  of  fine  things,  which  things  themselves  we 
shall   never,   in   consequence,   enjoy   any   more.     Many   a    pretty 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  99 

beading  and  graceful  bracket  there  is  in  wood  or  stucco  above  our 
grocers'  and  cheese-mongers'  and  hosiers'  shops  :  how  is  it  that  the 
tradesmen  cannot  understand  that  custom  is  to  be  had  only  by 
selling  good  tea  and  cheese  and  cloth,  and  that  people  come  to 
them  for  their  honesty,  and  their  readiness,  and  their  right  wares, 
and  not  because  they  have  Greek  cornices  over  their  windows,  or 
their  names  in  large  gilt  letters  on  their  house  fronts  ?  how  pleasur- 
able it  would  be  to  have  the  power  of  going  through  the  streets  of 
London,  pulling  down  those  brackets  and  friezes  and  large  names, 
restoring  to  the  tradesmen  the  capital  they  had  spent  in  architec- 
ture, and  putting  them  on  honest  and  equal  terms,  each  with  his 
name  in  black  letters  over  his  door,  not  shouted  do^vn  the  street  from 
the  upper  stories,  and  each  with  a  j)lain  wooden  shop  casement, 
with  small  panes  in  it  that  people  would  not  think  of  breaking  in 
order  to  be  sent  to  prison  !  How  much  better  for  them  would  it  be 
— how  much  happier,  how  much  wiser,  to  put  their  trust  upon  their 
own  truth  and  industry,  and  not  on  the  idiocy  of  their  customers. 
It  is  cm'ious,  and  it  says  httle  for  om-  national  probity  on  the  one 
hand,  or  prudence  on  the  other,  to  see  the  whole  system  of  our 
street  decoration  based  en  the  idea  that  people  must  be  baited  to  a 
shop  as  moths  are  to  a  candle. 

XX.  But  it  will  be  said  that  much  of  the  best  wooden  decoration 
of  the  middle  ages  was  in  shop  fronts.  No  ;  it  was  in  house  fronts, 
of  which  the  shop  was  a  part,  and  received  its  natural  and  consistent 
portion  of  the  ornament.  In  those  days  men  hved,  and  intended  to 
live  by  their  shops,  and  over  them,  all  their  days.  They  were 
contented  ^y\\\\  them  and  happy  in  them :  they  were  their  palaces 
and  castles.  They  gave  them  therefore  such  decoration  as  made 
themselves  happy  in  their  own  habitation,  and  they  gave  it  for  their 
own  sake.  The  upper  stories  were  always  the  richest,  and  the  shop 
was  decorated  chiefly  about  the  door,  which  belonged  to  the  house 
more  than  to  it.  And  when  our  tradesmen  settle  to  thefr  shops  in 
the  same  way,  and  form  no  plans  respecting  future  \nlla  architecture, 
let  their  whole  houses  be  decorated,  and  their  shops  too,  but  with 
a  national  and  domestic  decoration  (I  shall  speak  more  of  this  point 
in  the  sixth  chapter).  However,  om-  cities  are  for  the  most  part  too 
large  to  admit  of  contented  dwelling  in  them  throughout  hfe  ;  and  I 
do  not  say  there  is  harm  in  our  present  system  of  separating  the 
shop  from  the  dwelhng-house  ;  only  where  they  are  so  separated,  let 


100  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

US  remember  that  tlie  only  reason  for  shop  decoration   is  removed, 
and  see  that  the  decoration  be  removed  also. 

XXI.  Another  of  the  strange  and  evil  tendencies  of  the  present 
day  is  to  the  decoration  of  the  railroad  station.  Now,  if  there  be 
any  ])lace  in  the  world  in  wliich  people  are  deprived  of  that  portion 
of  temper  and  discretion  which  are  necessary  to  the  contemplation  of 
beauty,  it  is  there.  It  is  the  very  temple  of  discomfort,  and  the 
only  charity  that  the  builder  can  extend  to  us  is  to  show  us,  plainly 
as  may  be,  how  soonest  to  escape  from  it.  The  whole  system  of 
railroad  travelling  is  addressed  to  })eople  who,  being  in  a  hiury,  are 
therefore,  for  the  time  being,  miserable.  No  one  would  travel  in 
that  manner  who  could  help  it — who  had  time  to  go  leisurely  over 
hills  and  between  hedges,  instead  of  through  tunnels  and  between 
banks :  at  least  those  who  would,  have  no  sense  of  beauty  so  acute 
as  that  we  need  consult  it  at  the  station.  The  railroad  is  in  all  its 
relations  a  matter  of  earnest  business,  to  be  got  through  as  soon  as 
possible.  It  transmutes  a  man  from  a  traveller  into  a  hving  parcel. 
For  the  time  he  has  parted  with  the  nobler  characteristics  of  liis 
humanity  fur  the  sake  of  a  j)lanetary  power  of  locomotion.  Do  not 
ask  him  to  admire  anything.  You  might  :is  well  lu^k  the  wind. 
Carry  liim  safely,  dismiss  him  soon  :  he  will  thank  you  for  uotliing 
else.  All  attempts  to  please  him  in  any  other  way  are  mere 
mockery,  and  insults  to  the  things  by  wliich  you  endeavor  to  do  so. 
There  never  was  more  flagrant  nor  impertinent  tbllv  than  the 
smallest  portion  of  ornament  in  anything  concerned  with  railroads 
or  near  them.  Keep  them  out  of  the  way,  take  them  through  the 
ughest  country  you  can  find,  confess  them  the  miserable  things  they 
are,  and  spend  nothing  upon  them  but  for  safety  and  speed.  Give 
large  salaries  to  efficient  servants,  large  prices  to  good  manufacturers, 
large  wages  to  able  workmen ;  let  the  iron  be  tough,  and  the  brick- 
work solid,  and  the  carriages  strong.  The  time  is  perhaps  not 
distant  when  these  first  necessities  may  not  be  easily  met :  and  to 
increase  expense  in  any  other  direction  is  madness.  Better  bury 
gold  in  the  embankments,  than  put  it  in  ornaments  on  the  stations. 
Will  a  single  traveller  Ix?  willing  to  pay  an  increased  fare  on  the 
South  Western,  because  the  columns  of  the  terminus  are  covered 
with  patterns  from  Nineveh  ?  He  will  only  care  less  for  the 
Nmente  ivories  in  the  British  Museum :  or  on  the  North  Western, 
because  there  are  old  EngUsh-looking  spandrils  to  the  roof  of  the 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  101 

station  at  Crewe  ?  He  ■will  only  have  less  pleasm*e  in  their  ])roto- 
types  at  Crewe  House.  Railroad  architecture  has  or  would  have  a 
dignity  of  its  own  if  it  were  only  left  to  its  work.  You  would  not 
put  rings  on  the  fingers  of  a  smith  at  his  annl. 

XXII.  It  is  not  however  only  in  these  marked  situations  that  the 
abuse  of  which  I  speak  takes  place.  There  is  hardly,  at  present,  an 
apphcation  of  ornamental  work,  which  is  not  in  some  sort  liable  to 
blame  of  the  same  kind.  We  have  a  bad  habit  of  trying  to  disguise 
disagreeable  necessities  by  some  form  of  sudden  decoration,  which 
is,  in  all  other  places,  associated  with  such  necessities.  I  will  name 
only  one  instance,  that  to  which  I  have  alluded  before — the  roses 
which  conceal  the  ventilators  in  the  fiat  roofe  of  our  chapels.  Many 
of  those  roses  are  of  very  beautiful  design,  borrowed  from  fi^ne 
works  :  all  their  grace  and  finish  are  invisible  when  they  are  so  placed, 
but  their  general  form  is  afterwards  associated  A^^th  the  ugly  build- 
ings in  which  they  constantly  occur  ;  and  all  the  beautiful  roses  of 
the  early  French  and  English  Gothic,  especially  such  elaborate  ones 
as  those  of  the  triforium  of  Coutances,  are  in  consequence  deprived 
of  their  pleasurable  influence  :  and  this  without  our  having  ac- 
complished the  smallest  good  by  the  use  we  have  made  of  the 
dishonored  form.  Not  a  single  person  in  the  congregation  ever 
receives  one  ray  of  pleasure  from  those  roof  roses ;  they  are  regarded 
with  mere  indifterence,  or  lost  in  the  general  impression  of  harsh 
emptiness. 

XXIII.  ^Must  not  beauty,  then,  it  will  be  asked,  be  sought  for  in 
the  forms  which  we  associate  with  our  every-day  hfe  ?  Yes,  if  you 
do  it  consistent!)',  and  in  places  where  it  can  be  calmly  seen ;  but 
not  if  you  use  the  beautiful  form  only  as  a  mask  and  covering  of  the 
proper  conditions  and  uses  of  things,  nor  if  you  thrust  it  into  the 
places  set  apart  for  toil.  Put  it  in  the  drawing-room,  not  into  the 
workshop  ;  put  it  upon  domestic  fiu"nitiu"e,  not  upon  tools  of  handi- 
craft. All  men  have  sense  of  what  is  right  in  this  manner,  if  they 
would  only  use  and  apply  that  sense  ;  eveiy  man  knows  where  and 
how  beauty  gives  him  pleasure,  if  he  woiild  only  ask  for  it  when  it 
does  so,  and  not  allow  it  to  be  forced  upon  him  when  he  does  not 
want  it.  Ask  any  one  of  the  passengers  over  London  Bridge  at 
this  instant  whether  he  cares  about  the  forms  of  the  bronze  leaves 
on  its  lamps,  and  he  will  tell  you,  No.  Modify  these  forms  of  leaves 
to  a  less  scale,  and  put  them  on  his  milk-jug  at  breakfast,  and  ask 


102  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

him  whether  he  likes  them,  and  he  will  tell  you,  Yes.  People  have 
no  need  of  teacliing  if  they  could  only  think  and  speak  truth,  and 
ask  for  what  they  like  and  want,  and  for  nothing  else  :  nor  can  a 
right  disposition  of  beauty  be  ever  arrived  at  except  by  this  common 
sense,  and  allowance  for  the  circumstances  of  the  time  and  place. 
It  does  not  follow,  because  bronze  leafage  is  in  bad  taste  on  the 
lamps  of  London  Bridge,  that  it  would  be  so  on  those  of  the  I'onte 
della  Trinita ;  nor,  because  it  would  be  a  folly  to  decorate  the  house 
fronts  of  Gracechurch  Street,  that  it  would  be  equally  so  to  adorn 
those  of  some  quiet  provincial  town.  The  question  of  greatest 
external  or  internal  decoration  depends  entirely  on  the  conditions  of 
probable  repose.  It  was  a  wise  feeUng  which  made  the  streets  of 
Venice  so  rich  in  external  ornament,  for  there  is  no  couch  of  rest 
like  the  gondola.  So,  again,  there  is  no  subject  of  street  ornament 
so  wisely  chosen  as  the  fountain,  where  it  is  a  fountain  of  use ;  for  it 
is  just  there  that  perhaps  the  hajipiest  pause  takes  place  in  the  labor 
of  tlie  day,  when  the  pitcher  is  rested  on  the  edge  of  it,  and  the 
breath  of  the  bearer  is  drawn  deeply,  and  the  hair  swept  from  the 
forehead,  and  the  uprightness  of  the  form  declined  against  the 
marble  ledge,  and  the  sound  of  the  kind  word  or  light  laugh  mixes 
with  the  trickle  of  the  felling  water,  heard  shriller  and  shriller  as 
the  pitcher  fills.  ^Miat  pause  is  so  sweet  as  that — so  full  of  the 
depth  of  ancient  days,  so  softened  with  the  calm  of  pastoral 
sohtude  ? 

XXIV.  II.  ITius  far,  then,  of  the  place  for  beauty.  We  were 
next  to  inquire  into  the  characters  which  fitted  it  pecuharly  for 
architectural  appliance,  and  into  the  principles  of  choice  and  of 
aiTangement  which  best  regulate  the  imitation  of  natural  forms  in 
which  it  consists.  The  full  answering  of  these  questions  would  be  a 
treatise  on  the  art  of  design :  I  intend  only  to  say  a  few  words 
respecting  the  two  conchtioas  of  that  art  which  are  essentially 
architectural, — Proportion  and  Abstraction.  Neither  of  these 
quahties  is  necessary,  to  the  same  extent,  in  other  fields  of  design. 
The  sense  of  proix)rtion  is,  by  the  landscape  painter,  frequently 
sacrificed  to  character  and  accident;  the  power  of  abstraction  to 
that  of  complete  realisation.  The  flowers  of  his  foreground  must 
often  be  unmeasured  in  their  quantity,  loose  in  their  arrangement : 
•what  is  calculated,  either  in  quantity  or  disposition,  must  be  artfully 
concealed.     That  calculation  is  by  the  architect  to  be  prominently 


THE    LAMP    01'    BEAUTV.  103 

exhibited.  So  the  abstraction  of  few  characteristics  out  of  many, 
is  shown  only  in  the  painter's  sketch ;  in  his  finished  work  it  is 
concealed  or  lost  in  completion.  Architectm-e,  on  the  contrary, 
dehghts  in  Abstraction  and  fears  to  complete  her  forms.  Proportion 
and  Abstraction,  then,  are  the  two  especial  marks  of  architectural 
design  as  distinguished  from  all  other.  Sculpture  must  have  them 
in  inferior  degi'ees  ;  leaning,  on  the  one  hand,  to  an  arcliitectural 
manner,  when  it  is  usually  greatest  (becoming,  indeed,  a  part  of 
Architecture),  and,  on  the  other,  to  a  pictorial  manner,  when  it  is 
apt  to  lose  its  dignity,  and  sink  into  mere  ingenious  carving. 

XXV.  Now,  of  Proi)ortion  so  much  has  been  written,  that  I 
beheve  the  only  facts  which  are  of  practical  use  have  been 
overwhelmed  and  kept  out  of  sight  by  vain  accumulations  of 
particular  instances  and  estimates.  Proportions  are  as  infinite 
(and  that  in  all  kinds  of  things,  as  severally  in  colors,  hues,  shades, 
lights,  and  forms)  as  possible  airs  in  music  :  and  it  is  just  as  rational 
an  attempt  to  teach  a  young  architect  how  to  proportion  truly  and 
well  by  calculating  for  him  the  proportions  of  fine  works,  as  it  would 
be  to  teach  him  to  compose  melodies  by  calculating  the  mathematical 
relations  of  the  notes  in  Beethoven's  Adelaide  or  Slozart's  Requiem. 
The  man  who  has  eye  and  intellect  will  invent  beautiful  proportions, 
and  cannot  help  it ;  but  he  can  no  more  tell  us  how  to  do  it  than 
Wordsworth  could  tell  us  how  to  WTite  a  sonnet,  or  than  Scott 
could  have  told  us  how  to  plan  a  romance.  But  there  are  one  or 
two  general  laws  which  can  be  told :  they  are  of  no  use,  indeed, 
except  as  preventives  of  gross  mistake,  but  they  are  so  far  worth 
telhng  and  remembering ;  and  the  more  so  because,  in  the  discussion 
of  the  subtle  laws  of  proportion  (which  will  never  be  either  numbered 
or  kno^\■u),  architects  are  perpetually  forgetting  and  transgressing 
the  very  simplest  of  its  necessities. 

XXVI.  Of  which  the  first  is,  that  A\herever  Proportion  exists  at 
all,  one  member  of  the  composition  must  be  either  larger  than,  or  in 
some  way  supreme  over,  the  rest.  There  is  no  proportion  between 
equal  things.  They  can  have  symmetry  only,  and  symmetry  without 
proportion  is  not  composition.  It  is  necessary  to  perfect  beauty,  but 
it  is  the  least  necessary  of  its  elements,  nor  of  course  is  there  any 
diflSculty  in  obtaining  it.  Any  succession  of  equal  things  is 
agreeable  ;  but  to  compose  is  to  arrange  unequal  things,  and  the 
first  thing  to  be  done  in  beginning  a  composition  is  to  determine 


104  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

which  is  to  be  the  principal  thing.  I  beheve  that  all  that  has  been 
written  and  taught  aVjout  proportion,  put  together,  is  not  to  the 
architect  worth  the  single  rule,  well  entbrced,  "  Have  one  large  thing 
and  several  smaller  things,  or  one  principal  thing  and  several  inferior 
things,  and  bind  them  well  together."  Sometimes  there  may  be  a 
regular  giadation,  as  between  the  heights  of  stories  in  good  designs 
for  houses ;  sometimes  a  monarch  with  a  lowly  train,  as  in  the  spire 
with  its  pinnacles  :  the  varieties  of  arrangement  are  infinite,  but  the 
law  is  universal — have  one  thing  above  the  rest,  either  by  size,  or 
office,  or  interest.  Don't  put  the  pinnacles  without  the  spire. 
What  a  host  of  ugly  church  towers  have  we  in  England,  with 
pinnacles  at  the  corners,  and  none  in  the  middle  !  How  many 
buildings  like  King's  College  Chapel  at  Cambridge,  looking  like 
tables  upside  down,  with  their  four  legs  in  the  air  !  What !  it  will 
be  said,  have  not  beasts  four  It^gs  ?  Yes,  but  legs  of  different 
shapes,  and  with  a  head  between  tliem.  So  they  have  a  pair  of 
ears  :  and  perhaps  a  pair  of  horns  :  but  not  at  both  ends.  Knock 
down  a  couple  of  pinnacles  at  either  end  in  King's  College  Chapel, 
and  you  will  have  a  kind  of  proportion  instantly.  So  in  a  cathedral 
you  may  have  one  tower  in  the  centre,  and  two  at  the  west  end ; 
or  two  at  the  west  end  only,  though  a  woi-se  arrangement :  but  you 
must  not  have  two  at  the  west  and  two  at  the  east  end,  unless  jou 
have  some  central  member  to  connect  them  ;  and  even  then, 
buildings  are  generally  bad  which  have  large  balancing  features  at 
the  extremities,  and  small  connecting  ones  in  the  centre,  because  it 
is  not  easy  then  to  make  the  centre  dominant.  The  bird  or  moth 
may  indeed  ha\e  wide  wings,  because  the  size  of  the  wing  does  not 
give  supremacy  to  the  wing.  The  head  and  life  are  the  mighty 
things,  and  the  plumes,  however  wide,  are  subordinate.  In  fine 
west  fronts  with  a  pediment  and  two  towers,  the  centre  is  always 
the  principal  mass,  both  in  bulk  and  interest  (as  having  the  main 
gateway),  and  the  towere  are  subordinated  to  it,  as  an  animal's  horns 
are  to  its  head.  The  moment  the  towers  rise  so  high  as  to  overpower 
the  body  and  centre,  and  become  themselves  the  princij)al  masses, 
they  will  destroy  the  ])roportion,  unless  they  are  made  unequal,  and 
one  of  them  the  leading  feature  of  the  cathe(lral,  as  at  Antwerp  and 
Strasburg.  But  the  purer  method  is  to  keep  th(>m  down  in  duo 
relation  to  the  centre,  and  to  throw  uj)  the  ]»ediuient  into  a  steep 
connecting  mass,  diviwuig  the  eye  to  it  by  i-ich  tiaceiy.     This  is 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTT.  105 

nobly  done  in  St.  Wulfran  of  Abbeville,  and  attempted  partly  at 
Rouen,  though  that  west  front  is  made  up  of  so  many  unfinished 
and  supervening  designs  that  it  is  impossible  to  guess  the  real 
intention  of  any  one  of  its  builders. 

XXVII.  This  rule  of  supremacy  applies  to  the  smallest  as  well  as 
to  the  leading  features  :  it  is  interestingly  seen  in  the  arrangement 
of  all  good  mouldings.  I  have  given  one,  on  the  opposite  page, 
from  Rouen  cathedral ;  that  of  the  tracery  before  distinguished  as  a 
type  of  the  noblest  manner  of  Northern  Gothic  (Chap.  II.  §  XXII.). 
It  is  a  tracery  of  three  orders,  of  which  the  first  is  dinded  into  a 
leaf  moulding,  fig.  4.  and  b  in  the  section,  and  a  plain  roll,  also  seen 
in  fig.  4.  c  in  the  section  ;  these  two  di\asions  surround  the  entire 
window  or  panelling,  and  are  carried  by  two-face  shafts  of  con-es- 
ponding  sections.  The  second  and  tliird  orders  are  plain  rolls 
foUowiug  the  hne  of  the  tracery ;  four  divisions  of  moulding  in  all : 
of  these  four,  the  leaf  moulding  is,  as  seen  in  the  sections,  much  the 
largest ;  next  to  it  the  outer  roll ;  then,  by  an  exquisite  alternation, 
the  innermost  roll  (e),  in  order  that  it  may  not  be  lost  in  the  recess, 
and  the  intermediate  (d),  the  smallest.  Each  roll  has  its  own  shaft 
and  capital  ;  and  the  two  smaller,  which  in  effect  upon  the  eye, 
owing  to  the  retirement  of  the  innermost,  are  nearly  equal,  have 
smaller  capitals  than  the  two  larger,  lifted  a  little  to  bring  them  to 
the  same  level.  The  wall  in  the  trefoiled  hghts  is  curved,  as  from 
e  to  f  in  the  section ;  but  in  the  quatrefoil  it  is  flat,  only  thrown 
back  to  the  full  depth  of  the  recess  below  so  as  to  get  a  sharp 
shadow  instead  of  a  soft  one,  the  moulding-s  faUing  back  to  it  in 
nearly  a  vertical  curve  behind  the  roll  e.  This  could  not,  however, 
be  managed  with  the  simpler  mouldings  of  the  smaller  quatrefoil 
above,  whose  half  section  is  given  fi-ora  ff  to  ^2 ;  but  the  architect 
was  evidently  fretted  by  the  heavy  look  of  its  circular  foils  as 
opposed  to  the  light  spring  of  the  arches  below  :  so  he  threw  its 
cusps  obliquely  clear  from  the  wall,  as  seen  in  fig.  2.,  attached  to  it 
where  they  meet  the  circle,  but  with  theii*  finials  pushed  out  fi-om 
their  natural  level  (h,  in  the  section)  to  that  of  the  fii'st  order  (ffz), 
and  supported  by  stone  props  behind,  as  seen  in  the  profile  fig.  2., 
which  I  got  from  the  coiTespondent  panel  on  the  buttress  face  (fig, 
1.  being  on  its  side),  and  of  which  the  lower  cusps,  being  broken 
away,  show  the  remnant  of  one  of  their  props  projecting  fi-om  the 
wall.     The  obUque  curve  thus  obtained  in  the  profile  is  of  singular 

5* 


106  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

grace.  Take  it  all  in  all,  I  have  never  met  with  a  more  exquisite 
piece  of  varied,  yet  severe,  proportioned  and  general  arrangement 
(though  all  the  windows  of  the  period  are  line,  and  especially 
delightful  in  the  subordinate  proportioning  of  the  smaller  capitals  to 
the  smaller  shafts).  The  only  fault  it  has  is  the  inevitable 
misarrangement  of  the  central  shafts ;  for  the  enlargement  of  the 
inner  roll,  though  beautiful  in  the  group  of  four  divisions  at  the 
side,  causes,  in  the  triple  central  shaft,  the  very  awkwardness  of 
heavy  lateral  members  which  has  just  been  in  most  instances 
condemned.  In  the  windows  of  the  choir,  and  in  most  of  the  period, 
this  difficulty  is  avoided  by  making  the  fourth  order  a  fillet  wliich 
only  follows  the  foliation,  while  the  three  outermost  are  nearly  in 
arithmetical  progression  of  size,  and  the  central  triple  shaft  has  of 
course  the  largest  roll  in  front.  The  moulding  of  the  Palazzo 
Foscari  (Plate  VIII.,  and  Plate  IV.  fig.  8.)  is,  for  so  simple  a  group, 
the  grandest  in  -effect  I  have  ever  seen :  it  is  composed  of  a  large 
roll  with  two  subordinates. 

XXVIII.  It  is  of  course  impossible  to  enter  into  details  of  instances 
belonging  to  so  intricate  a  di\'ision  of  our  subject,  in  the  compass  of 
a  general  essay.  I  can  but  rapidly  name  the  chief  conditions  of 
right.  Another  of  these  is  the  connection  of  Symmetry  with  hori- 
zontal, and  of  Proportion  with  vertical,  division.  Evidently  there  is 
in  svnunetry  a  sense  not  merely  of  equality,  but  of  balance :  now  a 
tiling  cannot  be  balanced  by  another  on  the  top  of  it,  though  it  may 
by  one  at  the  side  of  it.  Hence,  while  it  is  not  ouly  allowable,  but 
often  necessary,  to  divide  buildings,  or  parts  of  them,  horizontally 
into  halves,  thirds,  or  other  equal  parts,  all  vertical  dinsions  of  this 
kind  are  utterly  wi-ong ;  worst  into  half,  next  woi"st  in  the  regular 
numbers  which  more  betray  the  equality.  I  should  have  thought 
this  almost  the  first  principle  of  proportion  which  a  young  architect 
was  taught :  and  yet  I  remember  an  important  building,  recently 
erected  in  England,  in  which  the  columns  are  cut  in  half  by  the 
projecting  architraves  of  the  central  wndows  ;  and  it  is  quite  usual 
to  see  the  spires  of  modern  Gothic  churches  divided  by  a  band  of 
ornament  half  way  up.  In  all  fine  spires  there  are  two  bands  and 
three  parts,  as  at  Salisbury.  The  ornamented  portion  of  the  tower 
is  there  cut  in  half,  and  allowably,  because  the  spire  forms  the  third 
mass  to  which  the  other  two  are  subordinate :  two  stories  are  also 
equal  in  Giotto's  campanile,  but  dominant  o\er   smaller  divisions 


THE    LAMP    OF    BKAUTT.  10? 

below,  and  subordinated  to  the  noble  third  above.  Even  this 
arrangement  is  difficult  to  treat ;  and  it  is  usually  safer  to  increase  or 
diminish  the  height  of  the  divisions  regularly  as  they  rise,  as  in  the 
Doge's  Palace,  whose  three  divisions  are  in  a  bold  geometrical  pro- 
gression :  or,  in  towei-s,  to  get  an  alternate  proportion  between  the 
body,  the  belfry,  and  the  crown,  as  in  the  campanile  of  St.  Mark's. 
But,  at  all  events,  get  rid  of  equality ;  leave  that  to  children  and 
their  card  houses  :  the  laws  of  nature  and  the  reason  of  man  are 
aUke  against  it,  in  arts,  as  in  politics.  There  is  but  one  thorouo-hlv 
ugly  tower  in  Italy  that  I  know  of,  and  that  is  so  because  it  is  dinded 
into  vertical  equal  parts  :  the  tower  of  Pisa.'^ 

XXIX.  One  more  principle  of  Proportion  I  have  to  name,  equally 
simple,  equally  neglected.  Proportion  is  between  three  terms  at 
least.  Hence,  as  the  pinnacles  are  not  enough  without  the  spire,  so 
neither  the  spire  without  the  pinnacles.  All  men  feel  this,  and 
usually  express  their  feeling  by  saving  that  the  pinnacles  conceal  the 
junction  of  the  spire  and  tower.  This  is  one  reason  ;  but  a  more 
influential  one  is,  that  the  pinnacles  furnish  the  tliird  term  to  the 
spire  and  tower.  So  that  it  is  not  enough,  in  order  to  secure  propor- 
tion, to  dinde  a  building  unequally  ;  it  must  be  dinded  mto  at  least 
three  parts  ;  it  may  be  into  more  (and  in  details  with  advantage), 
but  on  a  large  scale  I  find  three  is  about  the  best  number  of  parts 
in  elevation,  and  five  in  horizontal  extent,  with  fi-eedom  of  increase 
to  five  in  the  one  case  and  seven  in  the  other ;  but  not  to  more  with- 
out confusion  (in  architecture,  that  is  to  say ;  tor  in  organic  structure 
the  numbers  cannot  be  Umited).  I  purpose,  in  the  course  of  works 
which  are  in  preparation,  to  give  copious  illustrations  of  this  subject, 
but  I  will  take  at  present  only  one  instance  of  vertical  proportion, 
from  the  flower  stem  of  the  common  water  plantain,  Alisma  Plaii- 
tago.  Fig.  5.  Plate  XII.  is  a  reduced  profile  of  one  side  of  a  plant 
gathered  at  random  ;  it  is  seen  to  have  five  masts,  of  which,  however, 
the  uppermost  is  a  mere  shoot,  and  we  can  consider  only  their  rela- 
tions up  to  the  fourth.  Their  lengths  are  measured  on  the  hne  AB. 
which  is  the  actual  length  of  the  lowest  mast  a  b,  A  C—b  c,  A  D=c  d, 
and  A  E—d  e.  If  the  reader  ^\  ill  take  the  trouble  to  measm-e  these 
lengths  and  compare  them,  he  will  find  that,  within  half  a  line,  the 
uppermost,  A  E=f  of  A  D,  A  D=f  of  A C,  and  A  C=|  of  AB  ;  a 
most  subtle  diminishing  proportion.  From  each  of  the  joints  spring 
three  major  and  three  minor  branches,  each  between  each ;  but  the 


108  THE    LA  Ml'    OF    BEAUTY. 

major  branches,  at  any  joint,  are  placed  over  the  minor  branches  at 
the  joint  below,  by  the  curious  arrangement  of  the  joint  itself — the 
stem  is  bluntly  triangular ;  fig.  G.  shows  the  section  of  any  joint- 
The  outer  darkened  triangle  is  the  section  of  the  lower  stem  ;  the 
inner,  left  light,  of  the  upper  stem  ;  and  the  three  main  branches 
spring  from  the  ledges  left  by  the  recession.  Tims  the  stems 
dimhiish  in  diameter  just  as  they  diminish  in  height.  The  main 
branches  (falsely  placed  in  the  profile  over  each  other  to  show  their 
relations)  have  respectively  seven,  six,  five,  four,  and  three  arm- 
bones,  like  the  miists  of  the  stem  ;  these  divisions  being  propor- 
tioned in  the  same  subtle  manner.  From  the  joints  of  these,  it  seems 
to  be  the  plan  of  the  plant  that  three  major  and  three  minor  branches 
should  again  s])ring,  bearing  the  flowei"S  :  but,  in  these  infinitely  com- 
plicated members,  vegetative  nature  admits  much  variety  ;  in  the 
plant  from  which  these  measures  were  taken  the  full  complement 
appeared  only  at  one  of  the  secondary  joints. 

The  leaf  of  this  plant  has  five  ribs  on  each  side,  as  its  flower  gene- 
rally five  masts,  arranged  with  the  most  exquisite  grace  of  curve  ;  but 
of  lateral  projiortion  I  shall  rather  take  illustrations  from  architecture  : 
the  reader  will  liud  several  in  the  accounts  of  the  Duomo  of  Pisa  and 
St.  Mark's  at  Venice,  in  Chap.  V.  §§XIV. — XVI.  I  give  these 
arrangements  merely  as  illustrations,  not  as  precedents :  all  beautiful 
proportions  are  unique,  they  are  not  general  formulse. 

XXX.  The  other  condition  of  architectural  treatment  which  we 
proposed  to  notice  was  the  abstraction  of  imitated  form.  But  there 
is  a  peculiar  difficulty  in  touching  within  these  narrow  limits  on  such 
a  subject  as  this,  because  the  abstraction  of  which  we  find  examples 
in  existing  art,  is  partly  involuntary ;  and  it  is  a  matter  of  much 
nicety  to  determine  where  it  begins  to  be  purposed.  In  the  progress 
of  national  as  well  as  of  individual  mind,  tlie  first  attempts  at  imita- 
tion are  always  abstract  and  incomplete.  (Greater  completion  marks 
the  progress  of  art,  absolute  completion  usually  its  dechne ;  whence 
absolute  completion  of  imitative  form  is  often  supposed  to  be  in  itself 
wrong.  But  it  is  not  wrong  always,  only  dangerous.  Let  us  endeavor 
brieflv  to  Jiscortain  wherein  its  danger  consists,  and  wherein  its  dignity. 

XXXI.  I  have  said  that  all  art  is  abstract  in  its  beginnings  ;  that 
is  to  say,  it  expresses  only  a  small  number  of  the  qualities  of  the 
thing  represented.  Curved  and  complex  lines  are  represented  by 
straight  and  simple  ones ;  interior  markings  of  forms  are  few,  and 


TnE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTT.  109 

much  is  symbolical  and  conventional.  Tliere  is  a  resemblance 
between  the  work  of  a  great  njition,  in  this  phase,  and  the  work  of 
childhood  and  ignorance,  which,  in  the  mind  of  a  careless  observer, 
might  attach  something  like  ridicule  to  it.  The  form  of  a  tree  on 
the  Xinevite  sculptures  is  much  like  that  which,  some  twenty  years 
ago,  was  famihar  upon  samplers  ;  and  the  types  of  the  face  and  figure 
in  early  Italian  art  are  susceptible  of  easy  caricature.  On  the  signs 
which  separate  the  infancy  of  magnificent  manhood  from  every  other, 
I  do  not  pause  to  insist  (they  consist  entirely  in  the  choice  of  the 
symbol  and  of  the  features  abstracted) ;  but  I  pass  to  the  next  stage 
of  art,  a  condition  of  strength  in  which  the  abstraction  which  was 
begun  in  incapability  is  continued  in  free  will.  This  is  the  case,  how- 
ever, in  pure  sculpture  and  painting,  as  well  as  in  architecture ;  and 
we  have  nothing  to  do  but  Avith  that  greater  severit}'  of  manner  which 
fits  either  to  be  associated  with  the  more  realist  art.  I  behcve  it 
properly  consists  only  in  a  due  expression  of  their  subordination,  an 
expression  varvnng  according  to  their  place  and  office.  The  question 
is  fii-st  to  be  clearly  determined  whether  the  architecture  is  a  fi-ame 
for  the  sculpture,  or  the  sculpture  an  ornament  of  the  architecture. 
If  the  latter,  then  the  fii^st  office  of  that  sculpture  is  not  to  represent 
the  things  it  imitates,  but  to  gather  out  of  them  those  arrangements 
of  form  which  shall  be  pleasing  to  the  eye  in  their  intended  places. 
So  soon  as  agreeable  lines  and  points  of  shade  have  been  added  to 
the  mouldings  which  were  meagTe,  or  to  the  lights  which  were  unre- 
lieved, the  architectural  work  of  the  imitation  is  accomphshed ;  and 
how  far  it  shall  be  wrought  towards  completeness  or  not,  -svill  depend 
upon  its  place,  and  upon  other  various  circumstances.  If,  in  its  pai*- 
ticular  use  or  position,  it  is  spnmetrically  arranged,  tliere  is,  of  coui-se, 
an  instant  indication  of  architectural  subjection.  But  symmetry  is 
not  al^straction.  Leaves  may  be  carved  in  the  most  regular  ordei*, 
and  yet  be  meanly  imitative ;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  they  may  be 
thrown  wild  and  loose,  and  yet  be  highly  architectural  in  their  sepa- 
rate treatment.  Nothing  can  be  less  sjonmetrical  than  the  group  of 
leaves  -which  join  the  two  colimms  in  Plate  XIII. ;  yet,  since  nothing 
of  the  leaf  character  is  given  but  what  is  necessary  for  the  bare  sug- 
gestion of  its  image  and  the  attainment  of  the  lines  desired,  their 
treatment  is  highly  abstract.  It  shows  that  the  workman  only 
wanted  so  much  of  the  leaf  as  he  supposed  good  for  his  architecture, 
and  would  allow  no  more ;  and  how  much  is  to  be  supposed  good, 


110  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTT. 

depends,  as  I  have  said,  much  more  on  pla<je  and  circumstance  than 
on  general  laws.  I  know  that  this  is  not  usually  thought,  and  that 
many  good  architects  would  insist  on  abstraction  in  all  cases  :  the 
question  is  so  wide  and  so  difficult  that  I  express  my  opinion  upon  it 
most  diffidently ;  biit  my  own  feeling  is,  that  a  purely  abstract  man- 
ner, like  that  of  our  earliest  English  work,  does  not  afford  room  for 
the  perfection  of  beautiful  form,  and  that  its  severity  is  wearisome 
atler  the  eye  has  been  long  accustomed  to  it.  I  have  not  done  jus- 
tice to  the  Salisbury  dog-tooth  moulding,  of  which  the  effect  is 
sketched  in  fig.  5.,  Plate  X.,  but  I  have  done  more  justice  to  it  never- 
theless than  to  the  beautiful  French  one  above  it ;  and  I  do  not  think 
that  any  candid  reader  would  deny  that,  piquant  and  spirited  as  is 
that  from  SaHsburv,  the  Rouen  UKjulding  is,  in  every  respect,  nobler. 
It  vr\\\  be  observed  that  its  symmetry  is  more  comjdicated,  the  leafage 
being  divided  into  double  groups  of  two  lobes  each,  each  lobe  of  chf- 
ferent  structure.  With  exquisite  feeling,  one  of  these  double  groups 
is  alternately  omitted  on  the  other  side  of  the  moulding  (not  seen  in 
the  Plate,  but  occuppng  the  cavetto  of  the  section),  thus  giving  a 
playful  lightness  to  the  whole ;  and  if  the  reader  will  allow  for  a 
beauty  in  the  flow  of  the  curved  outlines  (especially  on  the  angle),  of 
W'liich  he  cannot  in  the  least  judge  from  my  rude  dra^ving,  he  will 
not,  I  think,  expect  easily  to  find  a  nobler  instance  of  decoration 
adapted  to  the  severest  mouldings. 

Now  it  will  be  observed,  that  there  is  in  its  treatment  a  high 
degree  of  abstraction,  though  not  so  conventional  jis  that  of  Salisbury ; 
that  is  to  say,  the  leaves  have  httle  more  than  their  flow  and  outUne 
represented ;  they  are  hardly  undercut,  but  their  edges  are  connected 
by  a  gentle  and  most  studied  curve  with  the  stone  behind  ;  they  have 
no  serrations,  no  veinings,  no  ril)  or  stalk  on  the  angle,  only  an  inci- 
sion gracefully  made  towards  their  extremities,  indicative  of  the 
central  rib  and  depression.  The  whole  style  of  the  abstraction  shows 
that  the  architect  could,  if  he  had  chosen,  have  carried  the  imitation 
much  farther,  but  stayed  at  this  point  of  his  own  free  will ;  and 
what  he  has  done  is  also  so  perfect  hi  its  kind,  that  I  feel  disposed  to 
accept  liis  authority  without  question,  so  far  as  I  can  gather  it  from 
his  works,  on  the  whole  subject  of  abstraction. 

XXXII.  Happily  his  opinion  is  frankly  expressed.  This  mould- 
ing is  on  the  lateral  buttress,  and  on  a  le\el  with  the  top  of  the  north 
gate ;  it  cannot  therefore  be  closely  seen  except  from  the  wooden 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAtTTY.  Ill 

8taii"s  of  the  belfry  ;  it  is  not  intended  to  be  so  seen,  but  calculated 
for  a  distance  of,  at  least,  forty  to  fifty  feet  from  the  eye.  In  the 
vault  of  the  gate  itself,  half  as  near  again,  there  are  three  rows  of 
mouldings,  as  I  think,  by  the  same  designer,  at  all  events  part  of  the 
same  plan.  One  of  them  is  given  in  Plate  I.  fig.  2.  a.  It  ^^^ll  be 
seen  that  the  abstraction  is  here  infinitely  less  ;  the  ivy  leaves  have 
stalks  and  associated  fruit,  and  a  rib  for  each  lobe,  and  are  so  far 
undercut  as  to  detach  their  forms  from  the  stone ;  while  in  the  vine- 
leaf  moukling  above,  of  the  same  period,  from  the  south  gate,  serra- 
tion appears  added  to  other  pm-ely  imitative  characters.  Finally,  in 
the  animals  which  form  the  ornaments  of  the  portion  of  the  gate 
which  is  close  to  the  eye,  abstraction  nearly  vanishes  into  perfect 
sculpture. 

XXXIII.  Nearness  to  the  eye,  however,  is  not  the  only  circum- 
stance which  influences  architectural  abstraction.  These  very  animals 
are  not  merely  better  cut  because  close  to  the  eye ;  they  are  put 
close  to  the  eye  that  they  may,  without  indiscretion,  be  better  cut, 
on  the  noble  principle,  first,  I  think,  clearly  enunciated  by  Mr.  East- 
lake,  that  the  closest  imitation  shall  be  of  the  noblest  object.  Farther, 
since  the  wldness  and  manner  of  growth  of  vegetation  render  a 
bona  fide  imitation  of  it  impossible  in  sculpture — since  its  members 
must  be  reduced  in  number,  ordered  in  direction,  and  cut  away  from 
their  roots,  even  under  the  most  earnestly  imitative  treatment, — it 
becomes  a  point,  as  I  think,  of  good  judgment,  to  proportion  the 
completeness  of  execution  of  parts  to  the  formality  of  the  whole  ;  and 
since  five  or  six  leaves  must  stand  for  a  tree,  to  let  also  five  or  six 
touches  stand  for  a  leaf.  But  since  the  animal  generally  admits  of 
perfect  outline — since  its  form  is  detached,  and  may  be  fully  repre- 
sented, its  sculpture  may  be  more  complete  and  faithful  in  all  its 
parts.  And  this  principle  wU  be  actually  found,  I  believe,  to  guide 
the  old  workmen.  If  the  animal  form  be  in  a  gargoyle,  incom- 
plete, and  coming  out  of  a  block  of  stone,  or  if  a  head  only,  as  for 
a  boss  or  other  such  partial  use,  its  sculpture  will  be  highly  abstract. 
But  if  it  be  an  entire  animal,  as  a  lizard,  or  a  bird,  or  a  sqviirrel, 
peeping  among  leafage,  its  sculpture  will  be  much  farther  carried, 
and  I  think,  if  small,  near  the  eye,  and  worked  in  a  fine  material, 
may  rightly  be  carried  to  the  utmost  possible  completion.  Surely 
we  cannot  wish  a  less  finish  bestowed  on  those  which  animate  the 
mouldings  of  the  south  door  of  the  cathedral  of  Florence  ;  nor  desire 


112  THE    LAMP    OF   BEAUTT. 

that  the  birds  in  the  capitals  of  the  Doge's  palace  should  be  stripped 
of  a  single  plume. 

XXXIV.  Under  these  limitations,  then,  I  think  that  perfect  sculp- 
ture may  be  made  a  part  of  the  severest  architecture ;  but  this 
perfection  was  said  in  the  outset  to  be  dangerous.  It  is  so  in  the 
highest  degree ;  for  the  moment  the  architect  allows  himself  to  dwell 
on  the  imitated  portions,  there  is  a  chance  of  his  losing  sight  of  the 
duty  of  his  ornament,  of  its  business  as  a  part  of  the  composition,  and 
sacrificing  its  points  of  shade  and  effect  to  the  delight  of  delicate 
carving.  And  then  he  is  lost.  His  architecture  has  become  a  mere 
framework  for  the  setting  of  delicate  sculpture,  which  had  better  be 
all  taken  down  and  put  into  cabinets.  It  is  well,  therefore,  that  the 
young  architect  should  be  taught  to  think  of  imitative  ornament  as 
of  the  extreme  of  grace  in  language ;  not  to  be  regarded  at  first, 
not  to  be  obtained  at  the  cost  of  purpose,  meaning,  force,  or  concise- 
ness, yet,  indeed,  a  perfection — the  least  of  all  perfections,  and  yet 
the  crowning  one  of  all — one  which  by  itself,  and  regarded  in  itself, 
is  an  architectural  coxcombry,  but  is  yet  the  sign  of  the  most  highly- 
trained  mind  and  power  when  it  is  associated  with  others.  It  is  a 
safe  manner,  as  I  think,  to  design  all  things  at  tirst  in  severe  abstrac- 
tion, and  to  be  prepared,  if  need  were,  to  carry  them  out  in  that  form  ; 
then  to  mark  the  parts  where  high  finish  would  be  admissible,  to 
complete  these  always  with  stern  reference  to  their  general  effect, 
and  then  connect  them  by  a  graduated  scale  of  abstraction  with 
the  rest  And  there  is  one  safeguard  against  danger  in  this  process 
on  which  I  would  finally  insist.  Never  imitate  anything  but  natural 
forms,  and  those  the  noblest,  in  the  completed  parts.  The  degrada- 
tion of  the  cinque  cento  manner  of  decoration  was  not  owing  to  its 
naturalism,  to  its  faithfulness  of  imitation,  but  to  its  imitation  of  ugly, 
i.  e.  unnatural  things.  So  long  as  it  restrained  itself  to  sculpture 
of  animals  and  flowers,  it  remained  noble.  The  balcony,  on  the  oppo- 
site page,  from  a  house  in  the  Campo  St.  Benedetto  at  Venice,  shows 
one  of  the  earliest  occurrences  of  the  cinque  cento  arabesque,  and  a 
fi-agment  of  the  pattern  is  given  in  Plate  XII.  fig.  8.  It  is  but  the 
arresting  upon  the  stone  work  of  a  stem  or  two  of  the  living  flowers, 
which  are  rarely  wanting  in  the  A>'indow  above  (and  which,  by  the 
by,  the  French  and  Italian  peasantry  often  trellis  with  exquisite  taste 
about  their  casements).  This  arabesque,  reheved  as  it  is  in  darkness 
from  the  white  stone  by  the  stain  of  time,  is  surely  both  beautiful 


THE    LAMP    OF   BEAUTT.  113 

and  pure  ;  and  as  long  as  the  renaissance  ornament  remained  in  such 
forms  it  may  be  beheld  >vith  undeserved  admiration.  But  the 
moment  that  unnatural  objects  were  associated  with  these,  and  armor, 
and  musical  instruments,  and  wild  meaningless  scrolls  and  curled 
shields,  and  other  such  fancies,  became  principal  in  its  subjects,  its 
doom  was  sealed,  and  with  it  that  of  the  architecture  of  the  world. 

XXXV.  III.  Our  final  inquiry  was  to  be  into  the  use  of  color  as 
associated  with  architectural  ornament. 

I  do  not  feel  able  to  speak  with  any  confidence  respecting  the 
toucliing  of  sculjjture  with  color.  I  would  only  note  one  point,  that 
sculpture  is  the  representation  of  an  idea,  while  architectiu-e  is  itself 
a  real  thing.  The  idea  may,  as  I  think,  be  left  colorless,  and  colored 
by  the  beholder's  mind  :  but  a  reality  ought  to  have  reahty  in  all  its 
attributes  :  its  color  should  be  as  fixed  as  its  form.  I  cannot,  there- 
fore, consider  architecture  as  in  any  wise  perfect  without  color. 
Farther,  as  I  have  above  noticed,  I  think  the  colors  of  architecture 
should  be  those  of  natural  stones  ;  partly  because  more  durable,  but 
also  because  more  perfect  and  graceful.  For  to  conquer  the  harsh- 
ness and  deadness  of  tones  laid  upon  stone  or  on  gesso,  needs  the 
management  and  discretion  of  a  true  painter ;  and  on  this  co-opera- 
tion we  must  not  calculate  in  laying  down  rules  for  general  practice. 
If  Tintoret  or  Giorgione  are  at  hand,  and  ask  us  for  a  wall  to  paint, 
we  will  alter  our  whole  design  for  their  sake,  and  become  their  ser- 
vants ;  but  we  must,  as  architects,  expect  the  aid  of  the  common 
workman  only ;  and  the  laying  of  color  by  a  mechanical  hand,  and 
its  toning  under  a  vulgar  eye,  are  far  more  offensive  than  rudeness 
in  cutting  the  stone.  The  latter  is  imperfection  only ;  the  former 
deadness  or  discordance.  At  the  best,  such  color  is  so  inferior  to  the 
lovely  and  mellow  hues  of  the  natiu-al  stone,  that  it  is  wise  to  sacri- 
fice some  of  the  intricacy  of  design,  if  by  so  doing  we  may  employ 
the  nobler  material.  And  if,  as  we  looked  to  Nature  for  instruction 
respecting  form,  we  look  to  her  also  to  learn  the  management  of 
color,  we  shall,  perhaps,  find  that  this  sacrifice  of  intricacy  is  for  other 
causes  expedient. 

XXXVI.  First,  then,  I  think  that  in  making  tliis  reference  we  are 
to  consider  our  building  as  a  kind  of  organized  creature ;  in  coloring 
which  we  must  look  to  the  single  and  separately  organized  creatures 
of  Nature,  not  to  her  landscape  combinations.  Our  building,  if  it  is 
"well  composed,  is  one  tiling,  and  is  to  be  colored  as  Nature  would 


114  THE     LAMP     OF    BEAITTV. 

color  one  thing — a  shell,  a  flower,  or  an  animal ;  not  as  she  colors 
groups  of  things. 

And  the  tirst  broad  conclusion  we  shall  deduce  from  observance  of 
natural  color  in  such  cases  will  be,  that  it  never  follows  form,  but  is 
aiTanged  on  an  entirely  separate  system.  What  mysterious  connec- 
tion there  may  be  between  the  shape  of  the  spots  on  an  animal's 
skin  and  its  anatomical  system,  I  do  not  know,  nor  even  if  such  a 
connection  has  in  any  wise  been  traced :  but  to  the  eye  the  systems 
are  entirely  separate,  and  in  many  cases  that  of  color  is  accidentally 
variable.  The  stripes  of  a  zebra  do  not  follow  the  lines  of  its  body 
or  limbs,  still  less  the  spots  of  a  leopard.  In  the  plumage  of  birds, 
each  feather  beare  a  part  of  the  pattern  which  is  arbitrarily  carried 
over  the  body,  having  indeed  ct;rtaiu  graceful  harmonies  with  the 
form,  diminishing  or  enlarging  in  directions  which  sometuiies  follow, 
but  also  not  unfrequently  ojipose,  the  directions  of  its  muscular  Unes. 
Whatever  harmonies  there  may  be,  are  distinctly  like  those  of  two 
separate  musical  parts,  coinciding  here  and  there  only — never  dis- 
cordant, but  essentially  difterent.  I  hold  this,  then,  for  the  first  great 
principle  of  architectural  color.  Let  it  be  visibly  independent  of 
form.  Never  paint  a  column  with  vertical  lines,  but  always  cross 
it.'*  Ne\er  gi\e  separate  mouldings  separate  colors  (I  know  this  is 
heresy,  but  I  ne\er  shrink  from  any  conclusions,  however  contrary  to 
human  authority,  to  which  I  am  led  by  observance  of  natural  prin- 
ciples) ;  and  in  sculptured  ornaments  I  do  not  paint  the  leaves  or 
figures  (I  cannot  help  the  Elgin  frieze)  of  one  coloi-  and  their  ground 
of  another,  but  vary  both  the  ground  and  the  figures  with  the  same 
harmony.  Notice  how  Nature  does  it  in  a  variegated  flower ;  not 
one  leaf  red  and  another  white,  but  a  point  of  red  and  a  zone  of 
white,  or  whatever  it  may  be,  to  each.  In  certain  ]>laoes  you  may 
run  your  two  systems  closer,  and  here  and  there  let  them  be  parallel 
for  a  note  or  two,  but  see  that  the  colors  and  the  forms  coincide  only 
as  two  orders  of  mouldings  do ;  the  same  for  an  instant,  but  each 
holding  its  own  coui-se.  So  single  members  may  sometimes  have 
singli;  colors  :  as  a  bird's  head  is  sometimes  of  one  color  and  its 
shoulders  another,  you  may  make  your  capital  of  one  color  and  your 
shaft  another ;  but  in  general  the  best  place  for  color  is  on  broad  sur- 
faces, not  on  the  points  of  interest  in  form.  An  animal  is  mottled 
on  its  breast  and  back,  rarely  on  its  paws  or  about  its  eyes ;  so  put 
your  variegation  boldly  on  the  flat  wall  and  broad  shaft,  but  be  shy 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  115 

of  it  in  the  capital  and  moulding ;  in  all  cases  it  is  a  safe  rule  to  sim- 
plify color  when  form  is  rich,  and  vice  vei-sa ;  and  I  think  it  would 
be  well  in  general  to  carve  all  capitals  and  graceful  ornaments  in 
white  marble,  and  so  leave  them. 

XXXVII.  Independence  then  being  lii-st  secured,  what  kind  of 
limiting  outhnes  shall  we  adopt  for  the  system  of  color  itself  ? 

I  am  quite  sure  that  any  person  famihar  with  natural  objects  wll 
never  be  surprised  at  .any  appearance  of  care  or  finish  in  them. 
That  is  the  condition  of  the  univei-se.  But  there  is  cause  both  for 
surprise  and  inquiry  whenever  we  see  anything  hke  carelessness  or 
incompletion  :  that  is  not  a  common  conchtion ;  it  must  be  one 
appointed  for  some  singular  purpose.  I  beheve  that  such  sui-prise 
will  be  forcibly  felt  by  any  one  who,  after  studpng  carefully  the 
lines  of  some  variegated  organic  form,  will  set  himself  to  copy  with 
similar  diligence  those  of  its  colors.  The  boundaries  of  the  forms 
he  wll  assuredly,  whatever  the  object,  have  found  drawTi  Avith  a 
delicacy  and  precision  which  no  human  hand  can  follow.  Those  of 
its  colors  he  -ttill  find  in  many  cases,  though  governed  always  by  a 
certain  rude  symmetry,  yet  irregular,  blotched,  imperfect,  hable  to 
all  kinds  of  accidents  and  awkwardnesses.  Look  at  the  traceiy  of  the 
lines  on  a  camp  shell,  and  see  how  oddly  and  awkwardly  its  tents 
are  pitched.  It  is  not  indeed  always  so :  there  is  occasionally,  as  in 
the  eye  of  the  peacock's  jjlume,  an  apparent  precision,  but  still  a 
precision  far  inferior  to  that  of  the  drawing  of  the  filaments  which 
bear  that  lovely  stain  ;  and  in  the  plm-ality  of  cases  a  degTee  of 
looseness  and  variation,  and,  still  more  singularly,  of  harshness  and 
violence  in  an-angement,  is  admitted  in  color  which  woiUd  be 
monstrous  in  form.  Observe  the  diflference  in  the  precision  of  a 
fish's  scales  and  of  the  spots  on  them. 

XXXVIII.  Xow,  why  it  should  be  that  color  is  best  seen  imder 
these  circumstances  I  will  not  here  endeavor  to  determine ;  nor 
whether  the  lesson  we  are  to  learn  from  it  be  that  it  is  God's  will  that 
all  manner  of  delights  should  never  be  combined  in  one  thing.  But 
the  fact  is  certain,  that  color  is  always  by  Him  arranged  in  these 
simple  or  rude  forms,  and  as  certain  that,  therefore,  it  must  be  best 
seen  in  them,  and  that  we  shall  never  mend  by  refining  its  arrange- 
ments. Experience  teaches  us  the  same  thing.  Infinite  nonsense 
has  been  wTitten  about  the  union  of  perfect  color  with  perfect  form. 
They  never  will,  never  can  be   united.     Color,  to   be   perfect,  must 


116  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

have  a  soft  outline  or  a  simple  one :  it  cannot  have  a  refined  one  ; 
and  you  will  never  produce  a  good  painted  window  with  good 
figure-dra\\'ing  in  it.  You  will  lose  perfection  of  color  as  you  give 
perfection  of  line.  Try  to  put  in  order  and  form  the  colors  of  a 
piece  of  opal. 

XXXIX.  I  conclude,  then,  that  all  arrangements  of  color,  for  its 
own  sake,  in  graceful  forms,  are  barbarous ;  and  that,  to  paint  a 
color  pattern  with  the  lovely  lines  of  a  Greek  leaf  moukhng,  is  an 
utterly  savage  procedure.  I  cannot  tind  anything  in  natural  color 
like  tliis :  it  is  not  in  the  bond.  I  find  it  in  all  natiu-al  form — never 
in  natural  color.  If,  then,  our  architectural  color  is  to  be  beautiful 
as  its  form  was,  by  being  imitative,  we  are  limited  to  these  condi- 
tions— to  simple  masses  of  it,  to  zones,  as  in  the  rainbow  and  the 
zebra  ;  cloudings  and  flamings,  as  in  marble  shells  and  plumage,  or 
spots  of  various  shapes  and  dimensions.  All  these  conditions  are 
susceptible  of  various  degrees  of  sharpness  and  delicacy,  and  of  com- 
plication in  arrangement.  The  zone  may  become  a  delicate  line, 
and  arrange  itself  in  chequers  and  zig-zag-s.  The  flaming  may  be 
more  or  less  defined,  as  on  a  tulij)  loaf,  and  may  at  last  be  repre- 
sented by  a  triangle  of  color,  and  arrange  itself  in  stars  or  other 
shapes ;  the  spot  may  be  also  graduated  into  a  stain,  or  defined  into 
a  square  or  circle.  The  most  exquisite  harmonies  may  be  composed 
of  these  simple  elements :  some  soft  and  full,  of  flushed  and  melting 
spaces  of  color;  others  piquant  and  sparkling,  or  deep  and  rich, 
formed  of  close  groups  of  the  fiery  fragments  :  perfect  and  lovely 
})roportion  may  be  exhibited  in  the  relation  of  their  quantities, 
infinite  invention  in  their  disposition :  but,  in  all  cases,  theh  shape 
will  be  efiective  only  as  it  determines  their  quantity,  and  regulates 
their  operation  on  each  other ;  points  or  edges  of  one  being 
introduced  between  breadths  of  others,  and  so  on.  Triangular  and 
])an-ed  forms  are  therefore  convenient,  or  othei*s  the  .simplest  pos- 
sible ;  lea\ing  the  pleasure  of  the  spectator  to  be  taken  in  the  color, 
and  iia  that  only.  Curved  outlines,  especially  if  refined,  deaden  the 
color,  and  confuse  the  mind.  Even  in  figure  painting  the  gi'eatest 
colorists  have  cither  nifltcd  their  oTltline  away,  as  often  Correggio 
and  Kubens ;  or  j)ur])(jst'ly  made  their  masses  of  ungainly  shape,  as 
Titian ;  or  placed  their  brightest  hues  in  costume,  where  they  could 
get  quaint  patterns,  as  Veronese,  and  especially  Angelico,  with 
whom,  however,  the  absolute  virtue  of  color  is  secondary  to  grace  of 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  117 

line.  Hence,  he  never  uses  the  blended  hues  of  Correggio,  like  those 
on  the  \\-ing  of  the  little  Cupid,  in  the  "  Venus  and  Mercury,"  but 
always  the  severest  type — the  peacock  plume.  Any  of  these  men 
would  have  looked  with  infinite  disgust  upon  the  leafage  and  scroll- 
work which  form  the  ground  of  color  in  our  modern  painted  windows, 
and  yet  all  whom  I  have  named  were  much  infected  witli  the  love 
of  renaissance  designs.  AVe  must  also  allow  for  the  freedom  of  the 
painter's  subject,  and  looseness  of  his  associated  hues ;  a  pattern 
being  severe  in  a  picture,  which  is  over  luxurious  upon  a  building. 
I  believe,  therefore,  that  it  is  impossible  to  be  over  quaint  or 
angular  in  architectural  coloring ;  and  thus  many  dispositions  which 
I  have  had  occasion  to  reprobate  in  form,  are,  in  color,  the  best  that 
can  be  invented.  I  have  always,  for  instance,  spoken  wath  contempt 
of  the  Tudor  style,  for  this  reason,  that,  ha^^ng  surrendered  all 
pretence  to  spaciousness  and  breadth, — having  di\'ided  its  surfaces 
by  an  infinite  number  of  lines,  it  yet  sacrifices  the  only  characters 
which  can  make  lines  beautiful ;  sacrifices  all  the  variety  and  grace 
which  long  atoned  for  the  caprice  of  the  Flamboyant,  and  adopts,  for 
its  leading  feature,  an  entanglement  of  cross  bare  and  verticals, 
showing  about  as  much  invention  or  skill  of  design  as  the  reticula- 
tion of  the  bricklayer's  sieve.  Yet  this  very  reticulation  would  in 
color  be  highly  beautiful ;  and  all  the  heraldiy,  and  other  features 
which,  in  form,  are  monstrous,  may  be  delightful  as  themes  of  color 
(so  long  as  there  are  no  fluttering  or  over-twisted  hues  in  them) ; 
and  this  observe,  because,  when  colored,  they  take  the  place  of  a 
mere  pattern,  and  the  resemblance  to  nature,  which  could  not  be 
found  in  their  sculptured  forms,  is  found  in  their  piquant  variega- 
tion of  other  surfaces.  There  is  a  beautiful  and  bright  bit  of  wall 
painting  behind  the  Duomo  of  Verona,  composed  of  coats  of  arms, 
whose  bearings  are  balls  of  gold  set  in  bare  of  green  (altered  blue  ?) 
and  white,  with  cardinal's  hats  in  alternate  squares.  This  is  of 
couree,  however,  fit  only  for  domestic  work.  Tlie  front  of  the  Doge's 
palace  at  Venice  is  the  purest  and  most  chaste  model  that  I  can 
name  (but  one)  of  the  fit  application  of  color  to  public  buildings. 
The  sculpture  and  mouldings  are  all  white ;  but  the  wall  surface  is 
chequered  with  marble  blocks  of  pale  rose,  the  chequers  being  in  no 
wise  harmonized,  or  fitted  to  the  forms  of  the  windows ;  but  looking 
as  if  the  surface  had  been  completed  first,  and  the  windows  cut  out 
of  it.     In  Plate  XII.  fig.  2.  the  reader  will  see  two  of  the  patterns 


118  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

used  in  green  and  white,  on  the  columns  of  San  Michele  of  Lucca ; 
every  column  ha\-ing  a  different  design.  Both  are  beautiful,  but  the 
upper  one  certainly  the  best.  Yet  in  sculpture  its  hnes  would  have 
been  perfectly  barbarous,  and  those  even  of  the  lower  not  enough 
refined. 

XL.  Restraining  ourselves,  therefore,  to  the  use  of  such  simple 
patterns,  so  far  forth  as  our  color  is  subordinate  either  to  archi- 
tectural structure,  or  sculptural  form,  we  have  yet  one  more  manner 
of  ornamentation  to  add  to  our  general  means  of  effect,  monochrome 
design,  the  intermediate  condition  between  coloring  and  car\'ing. 
The  relations  of  the  entire  system  of  architectural  decoration  may 
then  be  thus  expressed. 

1.  Organic  form  dominant.     True,  independent  sculpture,  and  alto- 

relievo  ;  rich  capitals,  and  moulding-s ;  to  be  elaborate  in 
completion  of  form,  not  abstract,  and  either  to  be  left  in  pure 
white  marble,  or  most  cautiously  touched  with  color  in  points 
and  borders  only,  in  a  system  not  concurrent  with  their  forms. 

2.  Organic  form  sub-dominant.     Basso-relievo  or  intagUo.     To  be 

more  abstract  in  proportion  to  the  reduction  of  depth ;  to  be 
also  more  rigid  and  simple  in  contour ;  to  be  touched  with 
color  more  boldly  and  in  an  increased  degi-ee,  exactly  in  pro- 
portion to  the  reduced  depth  and  fulness  of  form,  but  still  in  a 
system  non-concuri-ent  with  their  forms. 

3.  Organic  form  abstracted   to   outhne.     Monochrom   design,  still 

farther  reduced  to  simplicity  of  contour,  and  therefore  admit- 
ting for  the  first  time  the  color  to  be  concurrent  vnth  its 
outlines  ;  that  is  to  say,  as  its  name  imports,  the  entire  figure  to 
be  detached  in  one  color  from  a  ground  of  another. 

4.  Organic  forms  entirely  lost.     Geometrical   patterns  or   variable 

cloudings  in  the  most  vivid  color. 

On  ^he  opposite  side  of  this  scale,  ascending  from  the  color 
pattern,  I  would  ])lace  the  various  forms  of  painting  which  may  be 
associated  with  architecture :  primarily,  and  as  most  fit  for  such 
purpose,  the  mosaic,  highly  abstract  in  treatment,  and  introducing 
brilhant  color  in  masses ;  the  Madonna  of  Torcello  being,  as  I  think, 
the  noblest  type  of  the  manner,  and  the  Baptistery  of  Parma  the 
richest :  next,  the  purely  decorative  fresco,  like  that  of  the  Arena 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  119 

Chapel ;  finally,  the  fresco  becoming  principal,  as  in  the  Vatican  and 
Sistine.  But  I  cannot,  with  any  safety,  follow  the  principles  of 
abstraction  in  this  pictorial  ornament ;  since  the  noblest  examples  of 
it  appear  to  me  to  owe  their  architectural  applicability  to  their 
archaic  manner;  and  I  think  that  the  abstraction  and  admirable 
simplicity  which  render  them  fit  media  of  the  most  splendid  color- 
ing, cannot  be  recovered  by  a  voluntary  condescension.  The 
Byzantines  themselves  would  not,  I  think,  if  they  could  have  drawn 
the  figure  better,  have  used  it  for  a  color  decoration  ;  and  that  use, 
as  pecuUar  to  a  condition  of  childhood,  however  noble  and  full  of 
promise,  cannot  be  included  among  those  modes  of  adornment 
which  are  now  legitimate  or  even  possible.  There  is  a  difficulty  in 
the  management  of  the  painted  window  for  the  same  reason,  which 
has  not  yet  been  met,  and  we  must  conquer  that  first,  before  we  can 
venture  to  consider  the  wall  as  a  painted  window  on  a  large  scale. 
Pictorial  subject,  without  such  abstraction,  becomes  necessarily 
principal,  or,  at  all  events,  ceases  to  be  the  arcliitect's  concern  ;  its 
plan  must  be  left  to  the  painter  after  the  completion  of  the 
building,  as  in  the  works  of  Veronese  and  Giorgione  on  the  palaces 
of  Venice. 

XLI.  Pure  architectural  decoration,  then,  may  be  considered  as 
hmited  to  the  four  kinds  above  specified;  of  which  each  ghdes 
almost  imperceptibly  into  the  other.  Thus,  the  Elgin  frieze  is  a 
monoehrom  in  a  state  of  transition  to  sculpture,  retaining,  as  I  think, 
the  half-cast  skin  too  long.  Of  pure  monoehrom,  I  have  given  an 
example  in  Plate  VI.,  from  the  noble  front  of  St.  Michele  of  Lucca. 
It  contains  forty  such  arches,  all  covered  with  equally  elaborate 
ornaments,  entirely  drawn  by  cutting  out  their  ground  to  about  the 
depth  of  an  mch  in  the  flat  white  marble,  and  filling  the  spaces 
with  pieces  of  green  serpentine  ;  a  most  elaborate  mode  of  sculpture, 
requiring  excessive  care  and  precision  in  the  fitting  of  the  edges,  and 
of  coui-se  double  work,  the  same  line  needing  to  be  cut  both  in  the 
marble  and  serpentine.  The  excessive  simplicity  of  the  forms  will 
be  at  once  perceived ;  the  eyes  of  the  figures  of  animals,  for  instance, 
being  indicated  only  by  a  round  dot,  formed  by  a  little  inlet  circle 
of  serpentine,  about  half  an  inch  over :  but,  though  simple,  they 
adnadt  often  much  grace  of  curvature,  as  in  the  neck  of  the  bird 
seen  above  the  right  hand  pillar.'*  The  pieces  of  serpentine  have 
£Eillen  out  in  many  places,  giving  the  black  shadows,  as  seen  under 


120  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTT, 

the  horseman's  arm  and  bird's  neck,  and  in  the  semi-circular  lino 
round  the  arch,  once  filled  with  some  pattern.  It  would  have 
illustrated  my  point  better  to  have  restored  the  lost  portions,  but  I 
always  draw  a  thing  exactly  as  it  is,  hating  restoration  of  any  kind ; 
and  I  would  especially  direct  the  reader's  attention  to  the  comple- 
tion of  the  forms  in  the  scufptured  ornament  of  the  marble  cornices, 
as  opposed  to  the  abstraction  of  the  monochrom  figures,  of  the  ball 
and  cross  patterns  between  the  arches,  and  of  the  triangular  orna- 
ment round  the  arch  on  the  left. 

XLII.  I  have  an  intense  love  for  these  monochrom  figures,  owing 
to  their  wonderful  hfe  and  spirit  in  all  the  works  on  which  I  have 
found  them  ;  nevertheless,  I  believe  that  the  excessi\'e  degree  of 
abstraction  wliich  they  imply  necessitates  our  placing  them  in  the 
rank  of  a  progressive  or  imperfect  art,  and  that  a  perfect  building 
should  rather  be  composed  of  the  highest  sculpture  (organic  form 
dominant  and  sub-dominant),  associated  with  ])attern  colors  on  the 
flat  or  broad  surfaces.  And  we  find,  in  fact,  that  the  cathedral  of 
Pisa,  which  is  a  liigher  type  than  that  of  Lucca,  exactly  follows  this 
condition,  the  color  being  put  in  geometrical  patterns  on  its  surfaces, 
and  animal  forms  and  lovely  leafage  used  in  the  sculptured  cornices 
and  j)illars.  And  I  think  that  the  grace  of  the  carved  forms  is  l)est 
seen  when  it  is  thus  boldly  opposed  to  severe  traceries  of  color, 
wliile  the  color  itself  is,  as  we  have  seen,  always  most  piquant  Avhen 
it  is  put  into  sharp  angular  arrangements.  Thus  the  sculpture  is 
approved  and  set  off"  by  the  color,  and  the  color  seen  to  the  best 
ad\'antage  in  its  opposition  both  to  the  whiteness  and  the  grace  of 
the  carved  marble. 

XLIII.  In  the  course  of  this  and  the  preceding  chapters,  I  have 
now  separately  enumerated  most  of  the  conditions  of  Power  and 
Beauty,  which  ui  the  outset  I  stated  to  be  the  grounds  of  the 
deepest  impressions  with  which  architecture  could  affect  the  human 
mind  ;  but  I  would  ask  permission  to  recapitulate  tliem  in  order  to 
see  if  there  be  any  building  which  I  may  oflfer  as  an  example  of  the 
unison,  in  such  manner  as  is  possible,  of  them  all.  Glancing  back, 
then,  to  the  beginning  of  the  third  chapter,  and  introducing  in  their 
place  the  conditions  incidentally  determined  in  the  two  previous 
sections,  we  shall  have  the  following  list  of  noble  characters  : 

Considerable  size,  exhibited  by  simple  terminal  lines  (Chap.  III. 
(§  6).     Projection  towards  the  top  (§  7).     Breadth  of  flat  surface 


THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY.  121 

(§  8).  Square  compartments  of  that  surface  (§  9).  Varied  and 
\-isible  masonry  (§  11).  Vigorous  depth  of  sliadow  (§  13),  exhibited 
especially  by  pierced  traceries  (§  18).  Varied  proportion  in  ascent 
(Chap.  IV.  §  28).  Lateral  symmetry  (§  28).  Sculpture  most 
delicate  at  the  base  (Chap.  I.  §  12).  Enriched  quantity  of  orna- 
ment at  the  top  (§  13).  Sculpture  abstract  in  inferior  ornaments 
and  mouldino-s  (Chap.  IV.  §  .SI),  complete  in  animal  forms  (§  33). 
Both  to  be  executed  in  white  marble  (§  40).  Vivid  color  introduced 
in  flat  geometrical  patterns  (§  39),  and  obtained  by  the  use  of 
naturally  colored  stone  (§  35). 

These  characteristics  occur  more  or  less  in  different  building, 
some  in  one  and  some  in  another.  But  all  together,  and  all  in  their 
highest  possible  relative  degrees,  they  exist,  as  far  as  I  know,  only 
in  one  building  in  the  world,  the  Campanile  of  Giotto  at  Florence. 
The  drawing  of  the  tracery  of  its  upper  story,  which  heads  this 
chapter,  rude  as  it  is,  will  nevertheless  give  the  reader  some  better 
conception  of  that  tower's  magnificence  than  the  tliin  outhnes  in 
which  it  is  usually  portrayed.  In  its  first  appeal  to  the  stranger's 
eye  there  is  something  unpleasing ;  a  mingling,  as  it  seems  to  him, 
of  over  severity  with  over  minuteness.  But  let  him  give  it  time,  as 
he  should  to  all  other  consummate  art.  I  remember  well  how, 
when  a  boy,  I  used  to  despise  that  Campanile,  and  think  it  meanly 
smooth  and  finished.  But  I  have  since  lived  beside  it  many  a  day, 
and  looked  out  upon  it  from  my  windows  by  sunlight  and  moonhght, 
and  I  shall  not  soon  forget  how  profound  and  gloomy  appeared  to 
me  the  savageness  of  the  Northern  Gothic,  when  I  afterwards  stood, 
for  the  fii-st  time,  beneath  the  front  of  Salisbury.  The  contrast  is 
indeed  strange,  if  it  could  be  quickly  felt,  between  the  rising  of  those 
grey  walls  out  of  their  quiet  swarded  space,  hke  dark  aiM  barren 
rocks  out  of  a  green  lake,  Avitli  their  rude,  mouldering,  rough-grained 
shafte,  and  triple  hghts,  without  tracery  or  other  ornament  than  the 
martins'  nests  in  the  height  of  them,  and  that  bright,  smooth,  sunny 
surface  of  glowing  jasper,  those  spiral  shafts  and  fairy  traceries,  so 
white,  so  faint,  so  crystalline,  that  their  slight  shapes  are  hardly  traced 
in  darkness  on  the  pallor  of  the  Eastern  sky,  that  serene  height  of 
mountain  alabaster,  colored  like  a  morning  cloud,  and  chased  hke  a 
sea  shell.  And  if  this  be,  as  I  believe  it,  the  model  and  mirror  of 
perfect  architecture,  is  there  not  something  to  be  learned  by  looking 
back  to  the  early  hfe  of  him  who  raised  it  ?     I  said  that  the  Power 

6 


122  THE    LAMP    OF    BEAUTY. 

of  human  mind  had  its  growtli  in  the  AVilderness  ;  much  more  must 
the  love  and  the  conception  of  that  beauty,  whose  every  line  and 
hue  wc  have  seen  to  ho,  at  the  best,  a  faded  image  of  God's  daily 
work,  and  an  arrested  ray  of  some  star  of  creation,  be  given  chiefly 
in  the  places  wliich  He  has  gladdened  by  planting  there  the  fir 
tree  and  the  pine.  Not  within  the  walls  of  Florence,  but  among  the 
far  away  fields  of  her  lilies,  was  the  child  trained  who  was  to  raise 
that  headstone  of  Beauty  above  the  towers  of  watch  and  war. 
llemomber  all  that  he  Ix^came ;  count  the  sacred  thoughts  with 
which  he  filled  the  heart  of  Italy  ;  ask  those  who  followed  him  what 
they  learned  at  his  feet ;  and  when  you  have  numbered  his  labors, 
and  received  their  testimony,  if  it  seem  to  you  that  God  had  verily 
poured  out  upon  this  Ilis  servant  no  common  nor  restrained  portion 
of  His  Spirit,  and  that  he  was  indeed  a  king  among  the  children  of 
men,  remember  also  that  the  legend  upon  his  crown  was  that  of 
David's  : — "  I  took  thee  from  the  sheepcote,  and  from  following  the 
sheep." 


CHAPTER    V. 


THE  LAMP  OF  LIFE, 


I.  Among  the  countless  analogies  by  which  the  nature  and 
relations  of  the  human  soul  are  illustrated  in  the  material  creation, 
none  are  more  striking  than  the  impressions  inseparably  connected 
with  the  active  and  dormant  states  of  matter.  I  have  elsewhere 
endeavored  to  show,  that  no  inconsiderable  part  of  the  essential 
characters  of  Beauty  depended  on  the  expression  of  ^^tal  energy  in 
organic  things,  or  on  the  subjection  to  such  energj'^,  of  things 
naturally  passive  and  powerless.  I  need  not  here  repeat,  of  what 
was  then  advanced,  more  than  the  statement  which  I  believe  Avill 
meet  Avith  general  acceptance,  that  things  in  other  respects  alike,  as 
in  their  substance,  or  iLses,  or  outward  forms,  are  noble  or  ignoble  in 
proportion  to  the  fulness  of  the  life  which  either  they  themselves 
enjoy,  or  of  whose  action  they  bear  the  evidence,  as  sea  sands  are 
made  beautiful  by  their  bearing  the  seal  of  the  motion  of  the  waters. 
And  this  is  especially  true  of  all  objects  which  bear  ujion  them  the 
impress  of  the  highest  order  of  creative  hfe,  that  is  to  say,  of  the 
mind  of  man :  they  become  noble  or  ignoble  in  proportion  to  the 
amount  of  the  energy  of  that  mind  which  has  \Tsibly  been  employed 
upon  them.  But  most  peculiarly  and  imperatively  does  the  rule 
hold  with  respect  to  the  creations  of  Architecture,  which  being 
properly  capable  of  no  other  life  than  this,  and  being  not  essentially 
composed  of  things  pleasant  in  themselves, — as  music  of  sweet 
sounds,  or  painting  of  fair  coloi-s,  but  of  inert  substance, — depend, 
for  their  dignity  and  pleasurableness  in  the  utmost  degree,  upon  the 
nA-id  expression  of  the  intellectual  life  which  has  been  concerned  in 
their  production. 

II.  Now  in  all  other  kind  of  energies  except  that  of  man's  mind, 
there  is  no  question  as  to  what  is  life,  and  what  is  not.  Vital 
sensibility,  whether  vegetable  or  animal,  may,  indeed,  be  reduced  to 
60  great  feebleness,  as  to  render  its  existence  a  matter  of  question, 


124  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

but  wlien  it  is  evident  at  all,  it  is  endent  as  such  :  there  is  no  mistak- 
ing any  imitation  or  pretence  of  it  fur  the  life  itself;  no  mechanism 
nor  galvanism  can  tiike  its  place  ;  nor  is  any  resemblance  of  it  so 
striking  as  to  involve  even  hesitation  in  the  judgment ;  although 
many  occur  which  the  human  imagination  takes  j)le;usure  in  exalting, 
without  fur  an  instant  losing  sight  uf  the  real  nature  of  the  dead 
things  it  animates  ;  but  rejoicing  rather  in  its  own  excessive  life,  which 
puts  gesture  into  clouds,  and  joy  into  waves,  and  voices  into  rocks. 

III.  But  when  we  begin  to  be  concerned  >vith  the  energies  of 
man,  we  find  oui-selves  instantly  dealing  with  a  double  creature. 
Most  part  of  his  being  seems  to  have  a  fictitious  coimtcrp.\rt,  which 
it  is  at  his  peril  if  he  do  not  cast  oft"  and  deny.  Thus  he  has  a  true 
and  false  (otherwise  called  a  hvuig  and  dead,  or  a  feigned  or 
unfeigned)  faith.  He  has  a  true  and  a  false  hope,  a  true  and  a 
false  charity,  and,  finally,  a  true  and  a  false  life.  His  true  life  is  like 
that  of  lower  organic  beings,  the  independent  force  by  Avhich  he 
moulds  and  governs  external  things ;  it  is  a  force  of  assimilation 
which  converts  everything  around  him  into  food,  or  into  instruments ; 
and  which,  however  humbly  or  obediently  it  may  listen  to  or  fullow 
the  guidance  of  superior  intelligence,  never  forfeits  its  own  authority 
as  a  judging  principle,  as  a  will  capable  either  of  obeying  or  rebelling. 
Ilis  false  life  is,  indeed,  but  one  of  the  conditions  of  death  or  stupor, 
but  it  acts,  even  when  it  cannot  be  said  to  animate,  and  is  not  alwaj-s 
easily  known  from  the  true.  It  is  that  life  of  custom  and  accident 
in  which  many  of  us  pass  much  of  our  time  in  the  world  ;  that  life 
in  which  we  do  what  we  have  not  purposed,  and  speak  what  we  do 
not  mean,  and  assent  to  what  we  do  not  understand  ;  that  life  which 
is  overlaid  by  the  weight  of  things  external  to  it,  and  is  moulded  by 
them,  instead  of  assimilating  them ;  that,  wliich  instead  of  growing 
and  blossoming  under  any  wholesome  dew,  is  crystallised  over  with 
it,  as  with  hoar  frost,  and  becomes  to  the  true  life  what  an 
nrl)orescence  is  to  a  tree,  a  candied  agglomeration  of  thoughts  and 
habits  foreign  to  it,  brittle,  obstinate,  and  icy,  which  can  neither  bend 
nor  grow,  but  must  be  crushed  and  broken  to  bit*;,  if  it  stjind  in  our 
way.  All  men  are  liable  to  be  in  some  degree  frost-bitten  in  this 
sort ;  all  are  partly  encumbered  and  crusted  over  with  idle  matter ; 
only,  if  they  have  real  life  in  thein,  they  are  always  breaking  this 
bark  away  in  noble  rents,  until  it  becomes,  like  the  black  strips  upon 
the  birch  tree,  only  a  witness  of  their  own  inward  strength.     But, 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  125 

with  all  the  efforts  that  the  best  men  make,  much  of  their  being 
passes  in  a  kind  of  dream,  in  which  they  indeed  move,  and  play 
their  parts  sufficiently,  to  the  eyes  of  their  fellow-dreamei"s,  but  have 
no  clear  consciousness  of  what  is  around  them,  or  within  them ; 
blind  to  the  one,  insensible  to  the  other,  vwJpoi.  I  would  not  press 
the  definition  into  its  darker  application  to  the  dull  heart  and  heavy 
ear  ;  I  have  to  do  with  it  only  as  it  refei-s  to  the  too  frequent  condition 
of  natural  existence,  whether  of  nations  or  individuals,  settling 
commonly  upon  them  in  proportion  to  their  age.  The  hfe  of  a 
nation  is  usually,  like  the  flow  of  a  lava  stream,  first  bright  and 
fierce,  then  languid  and  covered,  at  last  advancing  only  by  the 
tumbhng  over  and  over  of  its  fi-ozeu  blocks.  And  that  List  condition 
is  a  sad  one  to  look  upon.  All  the  steps  are  marked  most  clearly 
in  the  arts,  and  in  Architecture  more  than  in  any  other  ;  for  it,  being 
especially  dependent,  as  we  have  just  said,  on  the  warmth  of  the 
true  lite,  is  also  peculiarly  sensible  of  the  hemlock  cold  of  the  false  ; 
and  I  do  not  know  anything  more  oppressive,  when  the  mind  is  once 
awakened  to  its  characteristics,  than  the  aspect  of  a  dead  architecture. 
The  feebleness  of  childhood  is  full  of  promise  and  of  interest, — the 
struggle  of  imperfect  knowledge  full  of  energy  and  continuity, — ^but 
to  see  impotence  and  rig-idity  setthng  upon  the  form  of  the  developed 
man ;  to  see  the  types  which  once  had  the  die  of  thought  struck 
fresh  upon  them,  woi'n  flat  by  over  use ;  to  see  the  shell  of  the 
linng  creature  in  its  adult  form,  when  its  colors  are  faded,  and  its 
inhabitant  perished, — this  is  a  sight  more  humiliating,  more 
melancholy,  than  the  vanishing  of  all  knowledge,  and  the  return 
to  confessed  and  helpless  infancy. 

Nay,  it  is  to  be  wished  that  such  return  were  always  possible. 
There  would  be  hope  if  we  could  change  palsy  into  puerihty  ;  but  I 
know  not  how  far  we  can  become  children  again,  and  renew  our  lost 
hfe.  The  stirring  which  has  taken  place  in  our  architectural  aims 
and  interests  within  these  few  years,  is  thought  by  many  to  be  full 
of  promise  :  I  trust  it  is,  but  it  has  a  sickly  look  to  me.  I  cannot 
tell  whether  it  be  indeed  a  springing  of  seed  or  a  shaking  among 
bones ;  and  I  do  not  think  the  time  will  be  lost  which  I  ask  the 
read(!r  to  spend  in  the  inquiry,  how  far  all  that  we  have  hitherto 
ascertained  or  conjectured  to  be  the  best  in  principle,  may  be 
formally  practised  without  the  spirit  or  the  vitahty  which  alone  could 
give  it  influence,  value,  or  delightfulness. 


126  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

IV.  Now,  in  the  first  place — and  this  is  rather  an  important 
point — it  is  no  sign  of  dradiicss  in  a  ])resent  art  that  it  borrows  or 
imitates,  but  otdy  if  it  borrows  without  paying  interest,  or  if  it 
iniitat<^s  without  choice.  The  art  of  a  groat  nation,  which  is 
developed  without  any  acquaintance  with  nobler  examples  than  its 
own  early  efforts  furnish,  exhibits  always  the  most  consistent  and 
comprehensible  growth,  and  perhaps  is  regarded  usually  as  pecu- 
liai'ly  venerable  in  its  self-origination.  But  there  is  something  to  my 
mind  more  majestic  yet  in  the  life  of  an  architecture  like  that  of  the 
Lombards,  rude  and  infantine  in  itself,  and  surrounded  by  fragments 
of  a  nobler  art  of  which  it  is  quick  in  admiration  and  readv  in  imita- 
tion, and  yet  so  strong  in  its  own  new  instincts  that  it  re-eonstruets  and 
re-arranges  every  fragment  that  it  copies  or  borrows  into  harmony 
with  its  own  thoughts, — a  harmony  at  fii-st  disjointed  and  awkward, 
but  completed  in  the  end,  and  fused  into  perfect  organisation  ;  all 
the  borrowed  elements  being  subordinated  to  its  own  piimal, 
unchanged,  life.  I  do  not  know  any  sensation  more  exquisite  than 
the  discovering  of  the  evidence  of  this  magniticent  struggle  into 
independent  existence ;  the  detection  of  the  borrowed  thoughts,  nay, 
the  finding  of  the  actual  blocks  and  stones  carved  by  other  hands 
and  in  other  ages,  wrought  into  the  now  walls,  with  a  new  expression 
and  purpose  given  to  them,  like  the  blocks  of  unsubdued  rocks  (to 
go  back  to  our  former  simile)  which  we  find  in  the  heart  of  the 
lava  current,  great  witnesses  to  the  power  which  has  fused  all  but 
those  calcined  fragments  into  the  mass  of  its  homogeneous  fire. 

V.  It  will  be  asked,  TTow  is  imitation  to  be  rendered  healthy  and 
vital  ?  Unhappily,  while  it  is  easy  to  enumerate  the  signs  of  lite,  it 
is  impossible  to  define  or  to  communicate  life  ;  and  while  every 
intelligent  writer  on  Art  has  insisted  on  the  difference  between  the 
coppng  found  in  an  advancing  or  recedent  period,  none  have  been 
able  to  conmiunicate,  in  the  slightest  degree,  the  force  of  v-itality  to 
the  copyist  over  whom  thi\y  might  have  influence.  Yet  it  is  at  least 
interesting,  if  not  profitable,  to  note  that  two  very  distinguishing 
characters  of  \ital  imitation  are,  its  Frankness  and  its  Audacity ;  its 
Frankness  is  especially  singular ;  there  is  never  any  effort  to  conceal 
the  degree  of  the  sources  of  its  borrowing.  Raffaelle  carries  off"  a 
whole  figure  from  Masaccio,  or  borrows  an  entire  composition  from 
Perugino,  with  as  much  tramiuillity  and  simplicity  of  iimocence  as  a 
young  Spartan    pickpocket ;    and  the    architect  of  a   Romanesque 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  127 

basilica  gathered  his  cohimns  and  capitals  where  lie  could  find  tliem, 
as  an  ant  picks  up  sticks.  There  is  at  least  a  presumption,  when  we 
find  this  fi-aiik  acceptance,  that  there  is  a  sense  within  the  mind  of 
power  capable  of  transfomiing  and  renewing  whatever  it  adopts  ; 
and  too  conscious,  too  exalted,  to  fear  the  accusation  of  plagiarism, 
— too  certain  that  it  can  prove,  and  has  proved,  its  independence,  to 
be  afraid  of  expressing  its  homage  to  what  it  admires  in  the  most 
oj)en  and  indubitable  Avay  ;  and  the  necessary  consequence  of  this 
sense  of  power  is  the  other  sign  I  have  named — the  Audacity  of 
treatment  when  it  finds  treatment  necessary,  the  unhesitating  and 
sweeping  sacrifice  of  precedent  where  precedent  becomes  incon- 
venient. For  instance,  in  the  characteristic  forms  of  Italian 
Romanesque,  in  which  the  hypaethral  portion  of  the  heathen 
temple  was  replaced  by  the  towering  nave,  and  where,  in  consequence, 
the  pediment  of  the  west  front  became  divided  into  three  portions, 
of  which  the  central  one,  like  the  apex  of  a  ridge  of  sloping  strata 
lifted  by  a  sudden  fault,  was  broken  away  fi'om  and  raised  above  the 
wings  ;  there  remained  at  the  extremities  of  the  aisles  two  triangular 
fragments  of  pediment,  which  could  not  now  be  filled  by  any  of 
the  modes  of  decoration  adapted  for  tlie  unbroken  space ;  and  the 
difficulty  became  greater,  when  the  central  portion  of  the  front  was 
occupied  by  columnar  ranges,  which  could  not,  without  painful 
abruptness,  terminate  short  of  the  extremities  of  the  wings.  I  know 
not  what  expedient  would  have  been  adopted  by  architects  who  had 
much  respect  for  precedent,  under  such  circumstances,  but  it  certainly 
would  not  have  been  that  of  the  Pisan, — to  continue  the  range  of 
columns  into  the  pedimental  space,  shortening  them  to  its  extremity 
until  the  shaft  of  the  last  column  vanished  altogether,  and  there 
remained  only  its  capital  resting  in  the  angle  on  its  basic  plinth.  I 
raise  no  question  at  present  whether  this  arrangement  be  graceful  or 
other\vise  ;  I  allege  it  only  as  an  instance  of  boldness  almost  %vithout 
a  parallel,  casting  aside  every  received  principle  that  stood  in  its 
way,  and  struggling  through  every  discordance  and  difficulty  to  the 
fulfilment  of  its  own  instincts. 

VI.  Frankness,  however,  is  in  itself  no  excuse  for  repetition,  nor 
Audacity  for  innovation,  when  the  one  is  indolent  and  the  other 
unwise.  Nobler  and  surer  signs  of  vitality  must  be  sought, — ^signs 
independent  alike  of  the  decorative  or  original  character  of  the  style, 
and  constant  in  every  style  that  is  determmedly  progi"essi\'e. 


128  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

Of  these,  one  of  the  most  important  I  believe  to  be  a  certain 
neglect  or  contempt  of  refinement  in  execution,  or,  at  all  events,  a 
■NTsible  subordination  of  execution  to  conception,  commonly  involun- 
tary, but  nut  untVequently  intentional.  This  is  a  point,  however,  on 
■which,  while  I  speak  confidently,  I  must  at  the  same  time  reservedly 
and  carefully,  as  there  would  othenvise  be  much  chance  of  my  being 
dangerously  misunderstood.  It  has  been  truly  observed  and  well 
stated  by  Lord  Lindsay,  that  the  be.«t  designers  of  Itiily  were  also 
the  most  careful  in  their  workmanship ;  and  that  the  stability  and 
finish  of  their  masonry,  mosaic,  or  other  work  whatsoe\er,  were 
always  perfect  in  proportion  to  the  apparent  improbability  of  the 
great  designers  condescending  to  the  care  of  details  among  us  so 
despised.  Not  only  do  I  fully  admit  and  re-a'^sert  this  most 
important  fact,  but  I  would  insist  upon  perfect  and  most  delicate 
finish  in  its  right  i)lace,  as  a  characteristic  of  all  the  highest  schools 
of  architecture,  as  mnch  as  it  is  those  of  painting.  But  on  the 
other  hand,  as  perfect  finish  belongs  to  the  perfected  art,  a  progi'es- 
sive  finish  belongs  to  progressive  art ;  and  I  do  not  think  that  any 
more  fatal  sign  of  a  stupor  or  numbness  settling  u])on  that 
undeveloped  art  could  possibly  be  detected,  than  that  it  had  been 
taken  aback  by  its  own  execution,  and  that  the  workmanship  had 
gone  ahead  of  the  design ;  while,  even  in  my  admission  of  absolute 
finish  in  the  right  place,  as  an  attribut-e  of  the  perfect<?d  school,  I 
must  reserve  to  myself  the  right  of  answering  in  my  own  Avay  tlio 
two  very  important  que^stion-*,  what  /.s-  finish  I  and  what  is  its  ri/ht 
place  ? 

VIL  But  in  illustrating  either  of  these  points,  we  must  remember 
that  tlie  correspondence  of  workmanship  with  thought  is,  in  existent^ 
examples,  int^fered  wth  by  the  ado])tion  of  the  designs  of  an 
advanced  period  by  the  workmen  of  a  rude  one.  All  the  Ix-ginnings 
of  Christian  arcliit<^-cture  are  of  this  kind,  and  the  necessary 
consequence  is  of  coni'se  an  increase  of  the  Hsible  intenal  between 
the  power  of  realisation  and  the  beauty  of  the  idea.  We  have  at 
lirst  an  imitation,  almost  savage  in  its  rudeness,  of  a  da^^sical 
design  ;  as  the  art  advances,  the  design  is  modified  by  a  mixture  of 
Gothic  grotesquene.ss,  and  the  execution  more  complete,  until 
a  harmony  is  c-stablished  between  the  two,  in  which  balance  they 
advance  to  new  perfection.  Now  during  the  whole  period  in  which 
the  ground  is  being  recovered,  there   will   be  found  m  the  living 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  129 

architecture  marks  not  to  be  mistaken,  of  intense  impatience ;  a 
struggle  towards  something  unattained,  which  causes  all  minor  points 
of  handling  to  be  neglected  ;  and  a  restless  disdain  of  all  qualities 
which  appear  either  to  confess  contentment  or  to  requhe  a  time  and 
care  which  might  be  better  spent.  And,  exactly  as  a  good  and 
earnest  student  of  drawing  will  not  lose  time  in  ruhng  lines  or 
finishing  backgrounds  about  studies  which,  while  they  have  answered 
his  immediate  purpose,  he  knows  to  be  imperfect  and  inferior  to 
what  he  will  do  hereafter, — so  the  ^^gor  of  a  true  school  of  early 
architectm-e,  which  is  either  working  under  the  influence  of  high 
example  or  which  is  itself  in  a  state  of  rapid  developement,  is  very 
curiously  traceable,  among  other  signs,  in  the  contempt  of  exact 
symmetry  and  measurement,  which  in  dead  architecture  are  the 
most  painful  necessities. 

VIII.  In  Plate  XII.  fig.  1.  I  have  given  a  most  singular  instance 
both  of  rude  execution  and  defied  symmetry,  in  the  little  pillar  and 
spandril  fi"om  a  pannel  decoration  imder  the  pulpit  of  St.  Mark's  at 
Venice.  The  imperfection  (not  merely  simplicit}^,  but  actual  rude- 
ness and  ugliness)  of  the  leaf  ornament  will  strike  the  eye  at  once : 
this  is  general  in  works  of  the  time,  but  it  is  not  so  common  to  find 
a  capital  which  hiis  been  so  carelessly  cut ;  its  imperfect  volutes 
being  pushed  up  one  side  far  higher  than  on  the  other,  and  con- 
tracted on  that  side,  an  additional  drill  hole  being  put  in  to  fill  the 
space ;  besides  this,  the  member  a,  of  the  mouldings,  is  a  roll  where 
it  follows  the  arch,  and  a  flat  fillet  at  a  ;  the  one  being  slurred  into 
the  other  at  the  angle  6,  and  filially  stopped  short  altogether  at  the 
other  side  by  the  most  uncourteous  and  remorseless  interference  of 
the  outer  moulding :  and  in  spite  of  all  this,  the  grace,  proportion, 
and  feeling  of  the  whole  an-angenient  are  so  great,  that,  in  its 
place,  it  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired ;  all  the  science  and  symmetry 
in  the  world  could  not  beat  it.  In  fig.  4.  I  have  endeavored  to  give 
some  idea  of  the  execution  of  the  subordinate  portions  of  a  much 
higher  work,  the  pulpit  of  St.  Andi'ea  at  Pistoja,  by  Xicolo  Pisano. 
It  is  covered  with  figure  sculptures,  executed  with  great  care  and 
dehcacy ;  but  when  the  sculptor  came  to  the  simple  arch  mould- 
ings, he  did  not  choose  to  draw  the  eye  to  them  by  over  precision 
of  work  or  over  sharpness  of  shadow.  The  section  adopted,  k,  m,  is 
pecuharly  simple,  and  so  slight  and  obtuse  in  its  recessions  as  never 
to  produce  a  sharp  hue ;  and  it  is  worked  with  what  at  fii-st  appears 

6* 


130  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

slovenliness,  but  is  in  fact  sculptural  sketching  ;  exactly  correspond- 
ent to  a  painter's  light  execution  of  a  background  :  the  lines  appear 
and  disappear  again,  are  sometimes  deep,  sometimes  shallow,  some- 
times quite  broken  off ;  and  the  recession  of  the  cusp  joins  that  of 
the  external  arch  at  ?i,  in  the  most  fearless  defiance  of  all  mathema- 
tical laws  of  curvilinear  contact. 

IX.  There  is  something  very  delightful  in  this  bold  expression  of 
the  mind  of  the  great  master.  I  do  not  say  that  it  is  the  "  perfect 
work"  of  patience,  but  I  tliink  that  impatience  is  a  glorious  character 
in  an  advancing  school ;  and  I  love  the  Romanesque  and  early 
Gothic  especially,  because  they  afford  so  much  room  for  it ;  acci- 
dental carelessness  of  measurement  or  of  execution  being  mingled 
undistinguishably  with  the  purposed  depai-tures  from  symmetrical 
regularity,  and  the  luxuriousness  of  perpetually  variable  fancy,  which 
are  eminently  characteristic  of  both  styles.  How  great,  how  frequent 
they  are,  and  how  brightly  the  severity  of  architectural  law  is 
relieved  by  their  grace  and  suddenness,  has  not,  I  think,  been  enough 
observed ;  still  less,  the  unequal  me:isurements  of  even  important 
features  professing  to  be  absolutely  s^mimetrical.  I  am  not  so  fami- 
liar with  modern  practice  as  to  speak  with  confidence  respecting  its 
ordinarv  precision  ;  but  I  imagine  tliat  the  following  mea<iures  of  the 
westt-rn  front  of  the  cathedral  of  Pisa,  would  be  looked  upon  by 
]>resent  architects  as  very  blundering  approximations.  That  front  is 
divided  into  seven  arched  compartments,  of  which  the  second,  fourth 
or  central,  and  sixth  contain  doors ;  the  seven  are  in  a  most  subtle 
alternating  i)ro])ortion  ;  the  central  being  the  largest,  next  to  it  the 
second  and  sixth,  then  the  first  and  seventh,  lastly  the  third  and  fifth. 
By  this  arrangement,  of  course,  these  three  pairs  should  be  equal ; 
and  they  are  so  to  the  eye,  but  I  found  their  actual  measures  to  be  the 
following,  taken  from  pillar  to  pillar,  in  Italian  braccia,  palmi  (four 
inches  each),  and  inches  : — 


Braccia. 

ratmi. 

Inches 

Total  In 
Inches. 

1. 

Central  door 

- 

8 

0 

0 

= 

192 

2. 
3. 

Northern  door  )      - 
Southern  door         - 

- 

6 
6 

3 

4 

3 

^-^ 

157J 
1G3 

4. 
5. 

Extreme  northern  space   \    - 
Extreme  southern  ppace   \   - 

- 

5 
6 

.5 

1 

3i 
Oi 

=z 

113  J 
148i 

6. 

7. 

Northern  intervals  between  the  d( 
Southern  intervals  between  the  di 

Dors  ) 
3or3  S 

5 
5 

2 
2 

1 

z= 

129 
129i 

THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  131 

There  is  thus  a  diflference,  severally,  between  2,  3  and  4,  5,  of  five 
inches  and  a  half  in  the  one  case,  and  five  inches  in  the  other. 

X.  This,  however,  may  perhaps  be  partly  attributable  to  some 
accommodation  of  the  accidental  distortions  W'hich  evidently  took 
place  in  the  walls  of  the  cathedral  during  their  building,  as  much  as 
in  those  of  the  campanile.  To  my  mind,  those  of  the  Duomo  are 
far  the  most  wonderful  of  the  two  :  I  do  not  believe  that  a  single 
pillar  of  its  walls  is  absolutely  vertical :  the  pavement  rises  and 
falls  to  difterent  heights,  or  rather  the  plinth  of  the  walls  sinks  into 
it  continually  to  difterent  depths,  the  wh(jle  west  front  literally  over- 
hangs (I  have  not  plumbed  it ;  but  the  inclination  may  be  seen  by 
the  eye,  by  bringing  it  into  visual  contact  with  the  upright  pilasters 
of  the  Campo  Santo) :  and  a  most  extraordinary  distortion  in  the 
masomy  of  the  southern  wall  shows  that  this  inclination  had  begim 
when  the  first  story  was  built.  The  cornice  above  the  first  arcade 
of  that  wall  touches  the  tops  of  eleven  out  of  its  fifteen  arches ;  but 
it  suddenly  leaves  the  tops  of  the  four  westernmost ;  the  arches  nod- 
ding westward  and  sinking  into  the  ground,  while  the  cornice  rises 
(or  seems  to  rise),  leaving  at  any  rate,  whether  by  the  rise  of  the  one 
or  the  foil  of  the  other,  an  interval  of  more  than  two  feet  between  it 
and  the  top  of  the  western  arch,  filled  by  added  courses  of  masonry. 
There  ^  another  very  curious  e\"idence  of  this  struggle  of  the  archi- 
tect with  his  yielding  wall  in  the  columns  of  the  main  entrance. 
(These  notices  are  perhaps  somewhat  irrelevant  to  our  immediate 
subject,  but  they  appear  to  me  highly  interesting ;  and  they,  at  all 
events,  prove  one  of  the  points  on  which  I  would  insist, — how  much 
of  imperfection  and  variety  in  things  professing  to  be  symmetrical 
the  eyes  of  those  eager  builders  c<juld  endure :  they  looked  to  love- 
hness  in  detail,  to  nol)ility  in  the  whole,  never  to  petty  measure- 
ments.) Those  columns  of  the  principal  entrance  are  among  the 
loveliest  in  Italy ;  cylindrical,  and  decorated  with  a  rich  arabesque 
of  sculptured  foliage,  which  at  the  base  extends  nearly  all  round 
them,  up  to  the  black  pilaster  in  which  they  are  lightly  engaged : 
but  the  shield  of  foliage,  bounded  by  a  severe  line,  narrows  to  their 
tops,  where  it  covers  their  frontal  segment  only ;  thus  giving,  when 
laterally  seen,  a  terminal  line  sloping  boldly  outwards,  which,  as  I 
think,  was  meant  to  conceal  the  accidental  leaning  of  the  western 
walls,  and,  by  its  exaggerated  inclination  in  the  same  direction,  to 
throw  them  by  comparison  into  a  seeming  vertical. 


132  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

XI.  Tliere  is  another  very  curious  instance  of  distortion  above  the 
central  door  of  the  west  front.  All  the  int<?rvals  between  the  seven 
arches  are  filled  with  blaek  marble,  each  containing  iu  its  centre  a 
white  parallclopam  filled  with  animal  mosaics,  and  the  whole  sur- 
mounted by  a  broad  white  band,  which,  generally,  does  not  touch 
the  parallelogram  below.  But  the  j)arallelogram  on  the  north  of  the 
central  arch  luis  been  forced  into  an  oblique  position,  and  touches 
the  white  baud ;  and,  a.s  if  the  architect  was  determined  to  show 
that  he  did  not  care  whether  it  did  or  not,  the  white  band  suddenly 
gets  thicker  at  that  place,  and  remains  so  over  the  two  next  arches. 
And  these  differences  are  the  more  curious  because  the  workmansliip 
of  them  all  is  most  finished  and  ma.sterly,  and  the  distorte<l  stones 
are  fitted  with  as  much  neatness  as  if  they  tallied  to  a  hair's  breadth. 
Tliere  is  no  look  of  slurring  or  blundering  about  it ;  it  is  all  coolly 
filled  in,  as  if  the  builder  had  no  sense  of  anything  being  wrong  or 
extraordinary  :  I  only  wish  we  had  a  little  of  his  impudence. 

XII.  Still,  the  reader  will  say  that  all  these  variations  are  i>robably 
dependent  more  on  the  bad  foundation  than  on  the  architect's  fouling. 
Not  so  the  exquisite  delicacies  of  change  in  the  proportions  and 
dimensions  of  the  apparently  symmetrical  arcades  of  the  west  fi'ont. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  I  said  the  tower  of  Pisa  was  the  only 
ugly  tower  in  Italy,  because  its  tiers  were  equal,  or  nearly  so,  in 
height ;  a  fault  this,  so  contrary  to  the  spirit  of  the  buildei-s  of  the 
time,  that  it  can  be  considered  only  as  an  unlucky  caprice.  Perhaps 
the  general  aspect  of  the  west  front  of  the  cathedral  may  then  have 
occurred  to  the  reader's  mind,  as  seemingly  another  contradiction  of 
the  rule  I  had  advanced.  It  would  not  have  been  so,  however,  even 
had  its  four  upper  ai-cades  been  actually  equal ;  as  they  aie  subor- 
dinated to  the  great  seven-arched  lower  story,  in  the  maimer  before 
noticed  respecting  the  spire  of  Salisbury,  and  as  is  actually  the  cjv^o 
in  the  Duomo  of  Lucca  and  Tower  of  Pistoja.  But  the  Pisan  front 
is  far  more  subtly  ]iroportioned.  Not  one  of  its  four  arcades  is  of 
like  height  with  another.  The  highest  Is  the  third,  counting  ujiwards ; 
and  they  diminish  in  nearly  arithmetical  proportion  alternately ;  in 
the  order  3rd,  1st,  2nd,  4tli.  The  inequalities  in  their  arelus  arc 
not  less  remarkable  :  they  at  first  strike  the  eye  as  all  equal ;  but 
there  is  a  gi'ace  about  them  which  equality  never  obtained  :  on  closer 
observation,  it  is  perceived  that  in  the  fii-st  row  of  nineteen  arches, 
eighteen  are  equal,  and  the  central  one  larger  than  the  vest;  in  the 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  133 

second  arcade,  the  nine  central  arches  stand  over  the  nine  below, 
ha\'ing,  like  them,  the  ninth  central  one  lai-gest.  But  on  their 
flanks,  where  is  the  slope  of  the  shoulder-like  pediment,  the  arches 
vanish,  and  a  wedge-shaped  frieze  takes  their  place,  tapering  out- 
wards, in  order  to  allow  the  columns  to  be  carried  to  the  extremity 
of  the  pediment ;  and  here,  where  the  heights  of  the  shafts  are  so 
far  shortened,  they  are  set  thicker  ;  five  shafts,  or  rather  four  and  a 
capital,  above,  to  foiu-  of  the  arcade  below,  gi\'ing  twenty-one  inter- 
vals instead  of  nineteen.  Li  the  next  or  third  arcade, — which, 
remember,  is  the  highest, — eight  arches,  all  equal,  are  given  in  the 
space  of  the  nine  below,  so  that  there  is  now  a  central  shaft  instead 
of  a  central  arch,  and  the  span  of  the  arches  is  increased  in  propor- 
tion to  their  increased  height.  Finally,  in  the  uppermost  ai'cade, 
which  is  the  lowest  of  all,  the  arches,  the  same  in  number  as  those 
bel<5w,  are  narrower  than  any  of  the  facade  ;  the  whole  eight  going 
very  nearly  above  the  six  below  them,  while  the  terminal  arches  of 
the  lower  arcade  are  surmounted  by  flanking  masses  of  decorated 
wall  with  projecting  figures. 

XIII.  Now  I  call  that  Living  Architecture.  There  is  sensation 
in  every  inch,  of  it,  and  an  accommodation  to  every  architectural 
necessity,  with  a  determined  variation  in  arrangement,  which  is 
exactly  like  the  related  proportions  and  provisions  in  the  structure 
of  organic  form.  I  have  not  space  to  examine  the  still  lovelier  pro- 
portioning of  the  external  shafts  of  the  apse  of  this  marvellous 
building.  I  prefer,  lest  the  reader  should  think  it  a  peculiar  example, 
to  state  the  sti-ucture  of  another  church,  the  most  graceful  and  grand 
piece  of  Romanesque  work,  as  a  fragment,  in  north  Italy,  that  of 
San  Giovanni  Evangelista  at  Pistoja. 

The  side  of  that  church  has  tlu'ee  stories  of  arcade,  diminishing 
in  height  in  bold  geometrical  proportion,  while  the  arches,  for  the 
most  part,  increase  in  number  in  arithmetical,  i.  e.  two  in  the  second 
arcade,  and  three  in  the  tlnrd,  to  one  in  the  first.  Lest,  however, 
this  arrangement  should  be  too  formal,  of  the  fourteen  arches  in  the 
lowest  series,  that  which  contains  the  door  is  made  larger  than  the 
rest,  and  is  not  in  the  middle,  but  the  sixth  from  the  West,  leaving 
five  on  one  side  and  eight  on  the  other.  Farther :  this  lowest 
arcade  is  terminated  by  broad  flat  pilasters,  about  half  the  width  of 
its  arches ;  but  the  arcade  above  is  continuous ;  only  the  two 
extreme  arches  at  the  west  end  are  made  larger  than  all  the  rest, 


134  THE    I.AMI'    OF    LIFE. 

and  instead  of  coming,  as  tlipy  sliouM,  into  the  space  of  the  lower 
extreme  arch,  take  in  both  it  and  its  broad  i)ilaster.  Even  tliis, 
however,  was  not  out  of  order  enough  to  satisfy  the  architect's  eye ; 
for  there  were  still  two  arches  above  to  each  single  one  below  :  so, 
at  the  east  end,  where  there  were  more  arches,  and  the  eye  might 
be  more  easily  cheated,  what  does  he  do  but  narrow  the  two 
extreme  lower  arches  b}'  half  a  braccio  ;  while  he  at  the  same  time 
slightly  enlarged  the  upper  ones,  so  as  to  get  only  seventeen  upper 
to  nine  lower,  instead  of  eighteen  to  nine.  The  eye  is  thus 
thorou<'ldy  confused,  and  the  whole  building  thrown  into  one  mass, 
by  the  cunous  variations  in  the  adjustments  of  the  suj)erimpo:^d 
shafts,  not  one  of  which  is  either  exjictly  in  nor  positively  out  of  its 
place ;  and,  to  get  this  managed  the  more  cunningly,  there  is  from 
an  inch  to  an  inch  and  a  half  of  gradual  gain  in  the  space  of  the 
four  eastern  arches,  besides  the  confessed  half  braccio.  Their 
measures,  counting  from  the  east,  I  found  as  follows : — 


Braccia. 

Pal  mi. 

Inches. 

1st 

- 

3 

0 

1 

2nd 

. 

3 

0 

2 

3rd 

- 

3 

3 

2 

4th 

- 

3 

3 

3i 

The  upper  arcade  is  managed  on  the  same  principle  ;  it  looks  at 
first  as  if  there  were  three  arches  to  each  under  pair ;  but  there  are, 
in  reality,  oTily  thirty-eight  (or  thirty-seven,  I  am  not  quite  certain 
of  this  numl)er)  to  tlie  twenty -seven  below  ;  and  the  columns  get 
into  all  manner  of  relative  positions.  Even  then,  the  builder  was 
not  satisfied,  but  must  needs  carry  the  irregularity  into  the  spring  of 
the  arches,  and  actually,  while  the  general  effect  is  of  a  symmetrical 
arcade,  there  is  not  one  of  the  arches  the  same  in  height  as  another ; 
their  tops  imdulate  all  along  the  wall  like  waves  along  a  harbor 
quay,  some  nearly  touching  the  string  couree  above,  and  others 
falling  from  it  as  much  as  five  or  six  inches. 

XIV.  Let  us  next  examine  the  plan  of  the  west  front  of  St. 
Mark's  at  Venice,  which,  though  in  many  respects  imperfect,  is  in 
its  proportions,  and  as  a  piece  of  rich  and  fantastic  color,  as  lovely  a 
dream  as  ever  filled  human  imagination.  It  may,  ])erhaps,  however, 
interest  the  reader  to  hear  one  opposite  opinion  upon  this  subject ; 
and  after  wliat  has  been  urged  in  the  preceding  pages  respecting 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  135 

proportion  in  general,  more  especially  respecting  the  wrongness  of 
balanced  cathedral  towers  and  other  regular  designs,  together  with 
my  frequent  references  to  the  Doge's  palace,  and  campanile  of  St, 
INlark's,  as  models  of  pertection,  and  my  praise  of  the  former 
especially  as  projecting  above  its  second  arcade,  the  following 
extracts  from  the  journal  of  Wood  the  architect,  written  on  his 
ai'rival  at  Venice,  may  have  a  pleasing  freshness  in  them,  and  may 
show  that  I  have  not  been  stating  principles  altogether  trite  or 
accepted. 

"  The  strange  looking  church,  and  the  great  ugly  campanile,  could 
not  be  mistaken.  The  exterior  of  this  church  surprises  you  by  its 
extreme  ugliness,  more  than  by  anything  else." 

"The  Ducal  Palace  is  even  more  ugly  than  any  thing  I  have 
previously  mentioned.  Considered  in  detail,  I  can  imagine  no 
alteration  to  make  it  tolerable  ;  but  if  this  lofty  Avail  had  been  set 
back  behind  the  two  stories  of  little  arches,  it  Avould  have  been  a 
very  noble  production." 

After  more  observations  on  "  a  certain  justness  of  proportion," 
and  on  the  appearance  of  riches  and  power  in  the  church,  to  which 
he  ascribes  a  pleasing  effect,  he  goes  on :  "  Some  persons  are  of 
opinion  that  irregularity  is  a  necessary  part  of  its  excellence.  I  am 
decidedly  of  a  contrary  opinion,  and  am  convinced  that  a  regular 
design  of  the  same  sort  would  be  far  superior.  Let  an  oblong  of 
good  architecture,  but  not  very  showy,  conduct  to  a  fine  cathedral, 
Avhicli  should  appear  between  tivo  lofty  towers  and  have  two  obelisks 
in  front,  and  on  each  side  of  this  cathedral  let  other  squares  partially 
open  into  the  first,  and  one  of  these  extend  down  to  a  harbor  or  sea 
shore,  and  you  would  have  a  scene  Avliich  might  challenge  any  thing 
in  existence." 

AVTiy  Mr.  Wood  was  unable  to  enjoy  the  color  of  St.  Mark's,  or 
perceive  the  majesty  of  the  Ducal  palace,  the  reader  mil  see  after 
reading  the  two  following  extracts  regarding  the  Caracci  and 
Michael  Angelo. 

''  The  pictures  here  (Bologna)  are  to  my  taste  far  preferable  to 
those  of  Venice,  for  if  the  Venetian  school  surpass  in  coloring,  and, 
perhaps,  in  composition,  the  Bolognese  is  decidedly  superior  iu 
drawing  and  expression,  and  the  Caraccis  shine  here  like  Gods." 

"  What  is  it  that  is  so  much  admired  in  this  artist  (M.  Angelo)  ? 
Some   contend   for   a  grandeur  of   composition  in  the    hues  and 


136  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

disposition  of  the  figures  ;  this,  I  confess,  I  do  not  comprehend  ;  yet, 
while  I  acknowledge  the  beauty  of  certain  forms  and  proportions  in 
architecture,  I  cannot  consistently  deny  that  similar  merits  may 
exist  in  painting,  though  I  am  imfortunately  unable  to  appreciate 
them." 

I  think  these  passages  very  valuable,  as  showing  the  effect  of  a 
contracted  knowledge  and  false  taste  in  painting  upon  an  architect's 
understanding  of  his  own  art ;  and  especially  with  what  curious 
notions,  or  lack  of  notions,  about  proportion,  that  art  has  been 
sometimes  practised.  For  Mr.  Wood  is  by  no  means  unintelligent 
in  his  observations  generally,  and  his  criticisms  on  classical  art  are 
otlen  most  valuable.  But  those  \vho  love  Titian  better  than  the 
Caracci,  and  who  see  something  to  admire  in  Michael  Angelo,  will, 
perhaps,  be  willing  to  proceed  with  me  to  a  charitable  examination 
of  St.  Mark's.  For,  although  the  present  course  of  Euroi)ean 
events  affords  us  some  chance  of  seeing  the  changes  proposed  by 
Mr.  Wood  earned  into  execution,  we  may  still  esteem  ourselves 
fortunate  in  having  first  known  how  it  was  let\  by  the  builders 
of  the  eleventh  century. 

XV.  The  entire  fi-ont  is  composed  of  an  upper  and  lower  series 
of  arches,  enclosing  spaces  of  wall  decorated  wth  mosaic,  and 
supported  on  ranges  of  shafts  of  which,  in  tlie  lower  series  of  arches, 
there  is  an  upjier  range  superimposed  on  a  lower.  Thus  we  have 
five  vertical  divisions  of  the  facade  ;  ?'.  e.  two  tiers  of  shafts,  and  the 
arched  wall  they  bear,  below  ;  one  tier  of  shafts,  atid  the  arched  wall 
they  bear  above.  In  order,  however,  to  bind  the  two  main  divi- 
sions together,  the  central  lower  arch  (the  main  entrance)  rises  above 
the  level  of  the  gallery  and  baliL<itrade  which  crown  the  lateral  arches. 

The  proportioning  of  the  columns  and  walls  of  the  lower  story  is 
so  lovely  and  so  varied,  that  it  would  need  pages  of  description 
before  it  could  1^  fully  understood ;  but  it  may  be  generally  stated 
thus :  Tlie  height  of  the  lower  shafts,  upper  shafts,  and  wall,  being 
severally  expressed  by  a,  6,  and  c,  then  a  '.  c  ::  c  '.  b  {a  l>eing  the 
highest) ;  and  the  diameter  of  shaft  b  is  generally  to  the  diameter  of 
shaft  a  as  height  b  is  to  height  a,  or  something  less,  allowing  for 
the  large  i>lintli  which  diminishes  the  apparent  height  of  the 
upper  shaft  :  and  when  this  is  their  proportion  of  \vidth,  one  shaft 
above  is  put  above  one  below,  with  sometimes  another  upper  shaft 
interposed :  but  in  the  extreme  arches  a  single  under  shaft  bears 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  137 

two  upper,  proportioned  as  truly  as  the  boughs  of  a  tree ;  that  is  to 
say,  the  diameter  of  each  upper =|  of  lower.  There  being  thus  the 
three  terms  of  proportion  gained  in  the  lower  story,  the  upper,  while 
it  is  only  divided  into  two  main  members,  in  order  that  the  whole 
height  may  not  be  divided  into  an  e\en  number,  has  the  third  term 
added  in  its  pinnacles.  So  far  of  the  vertical  di\ision.  The  lateral 
is  still  more  subtle.  Thei'e  are  seven  arches  in  the  lower  story ;  and, 
calling  the  central  arch  a,  and  counting  to  the  extremity,  they  diminish 
in  the  alternate  order  a,  c,  b,  d.  The  upper  story  has  five  arches, 
and  t\vo  added  pinnacles  ;  and  these  diminish  in  rer/ular  order,  the 
central  being  the  largest,  and  the  outermost  the  least.  Hence,  while 
one  proportion  ascends,  another  descends,  like  parts  in  music  ;  and 
yet  the  pjTamidal  form  is  secured  for  the  whole,  and,  which  was 
another  great  point  of  attention,  none  of  the  shafts  of  the  upper 
arches  stand  over  those  of  the  lo\\er. 

XVI.  It  might  have  been  thought  that,  by  this  plan,  enough 
variety  had  been  secured,  but  the  builder  was  not  satisfied  even  thus  : 
for — and  this  is  the  j^oint  Ijearing  on  the  present  part  of  our  subject 
— always  calling  the  central  arch  a,  and  the  lateral  ones  b  and  c  in 
succession,  the  northern  b  and  c  are  considerably  wider  than  the 
southern  b  and  c,  but  the  southern  d  is  as  much  wider  than  the 
northern  </,  and  lower  beneath  its  coi'nice  besides  ;  and,  more 
than  this,  I  hardly  believe  that  one  of  the  effectively  symmetrical 
members  of  the  facade  is  actually  synnnetrical  with  any  other.  I 
regret  that  I  cannot  state  the  actual  measures.  I  gave  up  the  taking 
them  upon  the  spot,  owing  to  their  excessive  complexity,  and  the 
embarrassment  caused  by  the  yielding  and  subsidence  of  the  arches. 

Do  not  let  it  be  supposed  that  I  imagine  the  Byzantine  workmen 
to  have  had  these  various  principles  in  their  minds  as  they  built.  I 
believe  they  built  altogether  from  feeling,  and  that  it  was  because 
they  did  so,  that  there  is  this  marvellous  life,  changefulness,  and 
subtlety  running  through  their  every  arrangement ;  and  that  we 
reason  upon  the  lovely  buikhng  as  we  should  upon  some  fair  growth 
of  the  trees  of  the  earth,  that  know  not  their  own  beauty. 

XVII.  Perhaps,  however,  a  stranger  instance  than  any  I  have 
yet  given,  of  the  daring  variation  of  pretended  symmetry,  is  found 
in  the  front  of  the  Catheckal  of  Bayeux.  It  consists  of  five  arches 
with  steep  pediments,  the  outermost  filled,  the  three  central  wth 
doors ;  and  they  appear,  at  first,  to  dimuiish  in  regular  proportion 


138  THE    LAMP    OK    LIFE. 

from  tlie  principal  one  in  tlie  centre.  The  two  lateral  doors  are  very 
curiously  manat^'od.  The  tympana  of  their  arches  are  tilled  with 
bas-reliefs,  in  four  tiers ;  in  the  lowest  tier  there  is  in  each  a  little 
temple  or  gate  containing  the  j)rincipal  figure  (in  that  on  the  right, 
it  is  the  gate  of  Hades  with  Lucifer).  This  little  temple  is  carried, 
like  a  capital,  by  an  isolated  shaft  which  divides  the  whole  arch  at 
about  §  of  its  breadth,  the  larger  portion  outmost ;  and  in  that 
larger  portion  is  the  inner  entrance  door.  This  exact  correspondence, 
in  the  treatment  of  both  gates,  might  lead  us  to  expect  a  corresj)ond- 
ence  in  dimension.  Not  at  all.  The  small  inner  northern  entrance 
measures,  in  English  feet  and  inches,  4  ft.  7  in.  from  jamb  to  jamb, 
and  the  southern  five  feet  exactly.  Five  inches  in  five  feet  is  a  con- 
siderable variation.  The  outer  northern  porch  measures,  from  face 
shaft  to  face  shaft,  13  ft.  11  in.,  and  the  southern,  14  ft.  6  in. ;  ginng 
a  difierence  of  7  in.  on  14^  ft.  There  are  also  variations  in  the 
I)ediment  decorations  not  less  extraordinary. 

XVllT.  I  imagine  I  have  given  instances  enough,  though  I  could 
inultij)ly  them  indefinitely,  to  prove  that  these  variations  are  not 
mere  blunders,  nor  carelessnesses,  but  the  result  of  a  fixed  scorn,  if 
not  dislike,  of  accuracy  in  measurements  ;  and,  in  most  cases,  I  believe, 
of  a  determined  resolution  to  work  out  an  eftective  symmetry  by  varia- 
tions as  subtle  as  those  of  Nature.  To  what  lengths  this  prinoi])le 
was  sometimes  carried,  we  shall  see  by  the  very  singular  management 
of  the  towel's  of  Abbeville.  I  do  not  say  it  is  right,  still  less  that  it 
is  wrong,  but  it  is  a  wonderful  ])roof  of  the  fearlessness  of  a  living 
architecture  ;  for,  say  what  we  will  of  it,  that  Flamlx)yant  of  France, 
however  morbid,  was  as  vivid  and  intense  in  its  animation  as  ever 
any  phase  of  mortal  mind  ;  and  it  would  have  hved  till  now,  if  it 
had  not  taken  to  telhn^:  lies.  I  liave  before  noticed  the  general 
difficult)'  of  managing  even  lat*  ral  division,  when  it  is  into  two 
equal  parts,  unless  there  be  some  third  reconciling  member.  I  shall 
give,  hereafter,  more  exanijiles  of  the  modes  in  which  this  reconciliation 
is  eft'ected  in  towers  with  douV)le  lights  :  the  Abbeville  architect  put 
his  sword  to  the  knot  perhaps  rather  too  sharj)ly.  Vexed  by  the 
want  of  unity  between  his  two  windows  he  literally  laid  their  heads 
together,  and  so  distorted  their  ogee  curves,  as  to  leave  only  one  of 
the  trefoiled  ]\anels  above,  on  the  inner  side,  and  three  on  the  outer 
side  of  each  arch.  Tlie  arrangement  is  given  in  I'late  XII.,  fig. 
3.     Associated  Avith  the  various  undulation  of   flamboyant  curves 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  139 

below,  it  is  in  the  real  tower  hardly  observed,  while  it  binds  it  into 
one  mass  in  general  effect.  Granting  it,  however,  to  be  ugly  and 
wrong,  I  like  sins  of  the  kind,  for  the  sake  of  the  courage  it  requires 
to  commit  them.  In  Plate  11.  (part  of  a  small  chapel  attaclied  to 
the  West  front  of  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Lo),  the  reader  will  see  an 
instance,  from  the  same  architecture,  of  a  violation  of  its  own 
principles  for  the  sake  of  a  peculiar  meaning.  If  there  be  any  one 
feature  which  the  flamboyant  architect  loved  to  decorate  richly,  it  was 
the  niche — it  was  what  the  capital  is  to  the  Corinthian  order  ;  yet 
in  the  case  before  us  there  is  an  ugly  beehive  put  in  the  place  of  the 
principal  niche  of  the  arch.  I  am  not  sure  if  I  am  right  in  my 
interpretation  of  its  meaning,  but  I  have  little  doubt  that  two  figures 
below,  now  broken  away,  once  represented  an  Annunciation  ;  and 
on  another  part  of  the  same  cathedral,  I  find  the  descent  of  the 
Spirit,  encompassed  by  rays  of  light,  represented  very  nearly  in  the 
form  of  the  niche  in  question ;  which  appears,  therefore,  to  be 
intended  for  a  representation  of  this  effulgence,  while  at  the  same 
time  it  was  made  a  canopy  for  the  delicate  figures  below.  "Whether 
this  was  its  meaning  or  not,  it  is  remarkable  as  a  daring  departure 
from  the  common  habits  of  the  time. 

XIX.  Far  more  splendid  is  a  license  taken  with  the  niche  deco- 
ration of  the  portal  of  St.  Maclou  at  Rouen.  The  subject  of  the 
tympanum  bas-relief  is  the  Last  Judgment,  and  the  sculpture  of  the 
inferno  side  is  carried  out  with  a  degree  of  power  whose  fearful 
grotesqueness  I  can  only  describe  as  a  mingling  of  the  minds  of 
Orcagna  and  Hogarth.  The  demons  are  perhaps  even  more  awful 
than  Orcagna's  ;  and,  in  some  of  the  expressions  of  debased  humanity 
in  its  utmost  despair,  the  English  painter  is  at  least  equalled.  Not 
less  wild  is  the  imagination  which  gives  fury  and  fear  even  to  the 
placing  of  the  figures.  An  evil  angel,  poised  on  the  wing,  d lives 
the  condemned  troops  from  before  the  Judgment  seat ;  with  his  left 
hand  he  drags  behind  him  a  cloud,  which  he  is  spreading  like  a 
winding-sheet  over  them  all ;  but  they  are  urged  by  him  so  furiously, 
that  they  are  driven  not  merely  to  the  extreme  limit  of  that  scene, 
which  the  sculptor  confined  elsewhere  within  the  tympainjm,  but  out 
of  the  tjTiipanum  and  into  the  niches  of  the  arch  ;  while  the  flames 
that  follow  them,  bent  by  the  blast,  as  it  seems,  of  the  angel's  wings, 
rush  into  the  niches  also,  and  burst  up  through  their  tracery,  the 
three  lowermost  niches  being  represented   as   all   on  fire ;   while, 


140  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

instead  of  their  usual  vaulted  and  ribbed  ceiling,  there  is  a  demon 
in  the  roof  of  each,  witli  his  wings  folded  over  it,  grinning  down  out 
of  the  black  shadow. 

XX.  I  have,  however,  given  enough  instances  of  vitality  shown  in 
mere  daring,  whether  wise,  as  surely  in  this  last  instance,  or  in- 
expedient ;  but,  as  a  single  example  of  the  Vitality  of  Assimilation, 
the  faculty  which  turns  to  its  purposes  all  material  that  is  submitted 
to  it,  1  would  refer  the  reader  to  the  extraordinary  columns  of  the 
arcade  on  the  south  side  of  the  Cathedral  of  Ferrara.  A  single  arch 
of  it  is  given  in  Plate  XIII.  on  the  right.  Four  such  arches  form- 
ing a  group,  there  are  interposed  two  ])airs  of  columns,  as  seen  on 
the  left  of  the  same  plate  ;  and  then  come  another  four  arches.  It 
is  a  long  arcade  of,  I  suppose,  not  less  than  forty  arches,  perhaps  of 
many  more  ;  and  in  the  grace  and  simplicity  of  its  stilted  Byzantine 
curves  I  hardly  know  its  equal.  Its  like,  in  fancy  of  column,  I 
certainly  do  not  know ;  there  being  hardly  two  correspondent,  and 
the  architect  having  been  ready,  as  it  seems,  to  adopt  idejxs  and 
resemblances  from  any  sources  whatsoever.  The  vegetation  growing 
up  the  two  columns  is  fine,  though  bizarre  ;  the  distorted  j)illars 
beside  it  suggest  images  of  less  agreeable  character ;  the  serpentine 
an-angements  founded  on  the  usual  Byzantine  double  knot  are 
generally  graceful ;  but  I  was  puzzled  to  account  for  the  excessively 
ugly  type  of  the  pillar,  fig.  3.,  one  of  a  gioup  of  four.  It  so 
happened,  fortunately  for  me,  that  there  had  been  a  fair  in  Ferrara ; 
and,  when  I  had  finished  my  sketch  of  the  pillar,  I  had  to  get  out 
of  the  way  of  some  merchants  of  miscellaneous  wares,  who  were 
removing  their  stall.  It  had  been  shaded  by  an  awning  suppoiled 
by  j)ok'S,  which,  in  order  that  the  covering  might  Ije  raised  or 
lowered  according  to  the  height  of  the  sun,  were  composed  of  two 
separate  pieces,  fitted  to  each  other  by  a  rack,  in  wliicli  I  beheld 
the  prototype  of  my  ugly  pillar.  It  will  not  be  thought,  after  what 
I  have  above  said  of  the  inexj)edience  of  imitating  anything  but 
natural  form,  that  I  advance  this  architect's  ]>ractice  as  altogether 
exemplary  ;  yet  the  humility  is  instructive,  which  condescended  to 
such  sources  for  motives  of  thought,  the  boldness,  which  could 
depart  so  far  from  all  estabhshed  types  of  form,  and  the  life  and 
feeling,  which  out  of  an  assemblage  of  such  quaint  and  uncouth 
materials,  could  produce  an  harmonious  piece  of  ecclesiastical 
architecture. 


J.lm  Wl^    S  b,„„i,^^,. 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  141 

XXI.  I  have  dwelt,  however,  perliaps,  too  long  upon  that  form 
of  ^itaUty  which  is  known  almost  as  much  by  its  erroi-s  as  by  its 
atonements  for  them.  We  must  briefly  note  the  operation  of  it, 
which  is  always  right,  and  always  necessary,  upon  those  lesser 
details,  where  it  can  neither  be  superseded  by  precedents,  nor 
repressed  by  proprieties. 

I  said,  early  in  this  essay,  that  hand-work  might  always  be  known 
from  machine-work ;  obsernng,  however,  at  the  same  time,  that  it 
was  possible  for  men  to  turn  themselves  into  machines,  and  to 
reduce  their  labor  to  the  machine  level ;  but  so  long  as  men  work 
as  men,  putting  their  heart  into  what  they  do,  and  doing  their  best, 
it  matters  not  how  bad  workmen  they  may  be,  there  will  be  that  in 
the  handling  which  is  above  all  price :  it  will  be  plainly  seen  that 
some  places  have  been  delighted  in  more  than  othere — that  there 
has  been  a  pause,  and  a  care  about  them  ;  and  then  there  will  come 
careless  bits,  and  fast  bits ;  and  here  the  chisel  will  have  struck  hard, 
and  there  hghtly,  and  anon  timidly ;  and  if  the  man's  mind  as  well 
as  his  heart  went  with  his  work,  all  this  will  be  in  the  right  j^laces, 
and  each  part  ^vill  set  off  the  other  ;  and  the  effect  of  the  whole,  as 
compared  with  the  same  design  cut  by  a  machine  or  a  lifeless  hand, 
will  be  like  that  of  poetry  well  read  and  deeply  felt  to  that  of  the 
same  verees  jangled  by  rote.  There  are  many  to  whom  the  dif- 
ference is  imperceptible ;  but  to  those  who  love  poetry  it  is  every- 
thing— they  had  rather  not  hear  it  at  all,  than  hear  it  ill  read ;  and 
to  those  who  love  Architecture,  the  life  and  accent  of  the  hand  are 
everj^thing.  They  had  rather  not  have  ornament  at  all,  than  see  it 
ill  cut — deadly  cut,  that  is.  I  cannot  too  often  repeat,  it  is  not 
coai-se  cutting,  it  is  not  blunt  cutting,  that  is  necessarily  bad  ;  but  it 
is  cold  cutting — the  look  of  equal  ti'ouble  everywhere — the  smooth, 
diffused  tranquillity  of  heartless  pains — the  regularity  of  a  plough  in 
a  level  lield.  The  chill  is  moi'e  likely,  indeed,  to  show  itself  in 
finished  work  than  in  any  other — men  cool  and  tire  as  they 
complete  :  and  if  completeness  is  thought  to  be  vested  in  polish,  and 
to  be  attainable  ])y  help  of  sand  paper,  we  may  as  well  give  the 
work  to  the  engine-lathe  at  once.  But  ri(/ht  finish  is  simply  the 
full  rendeiiug  of  the  intended  impression ;  and  hic/h  finish  is  the 
rendering  of  a  well  intended  and  nvdd  impression ;  and  it  is  oftener 
got  by  rough  than  tine  handling.  I  am  not  sure  whether  it  is 
frequently  enough  observed  that  sculpture  is  not  the  mere  cutting 


142  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

of  iha  form  of  anything  in  stone ;  it  is  the  cutting  of  the  ej^ect  of  it. 
Very  often  the  truL-  form,  in  the  niarl)le,  wuukl  not  be  in  the  least 
hke  itself.  The  sculptor  must  paint  with  his  chisel :  half  his  touches 
are  not  to  realize,  but  to  jiut  power  into  the  form :  they  are  touches 
of  light  and  shadow ;  and  raise  a  ridge,  or  sink  a  hollow,  not  to 
represent  an  actual  ridge  or  hollow,  but  to  get  a  line  of  light,  or  a 
spot  of  darkness.  In  a  coai-se  way,  this  kind  of  execution  is  very 
marked  in  old  French  wuodwork ;  the  irises  of  the  eyes  of  its  chime- 
ric monsters  being  cut  bt)ldly  into  holes,  which,  variously  placed, 
and  always  dark,  give  all  kinds  of  strange  and  stailling  expressions, 
averted  and  askance,  to  the  fantastic  countenances.  Perhaps  the 
highest  examples  of  this  kind  of  sculpture-painting  are  the  works  of 
Mino  da  Fiesole ;  their  best  eft'octs  being  reached  by  strange  angular, 
and  seemingly  rude,  touches  of  the  chisel.  The  lips  of  one  of  the  child- 
ren on  the  tombs  in  the  church  of  the  Badia,  appear  only  half  finished 
■when  they  are  seen  close ;  yet  the  expression  is  farther  carried  and 
more  inetTiible,  than  in  any  piece  of  marble  I  have  ever  seen, 
especially  considering  its  delicacy,  and  the  softness  of  the  child- 
features.  In  a  sterner  kind,  tliat  of  the  statues  in  the  sacristy  of  St. 
Lorenzo  equals  it,  and  there  again  by  incomplction,  I  know  no 
example  of  work  in  which  the  forms  are  absolutely  true  and  complete 
where  such  a  result  is  attained ;  in  Greek  sculptures  it  is  not  even 
attempted. 

XXII.  It  is  evident  that,  for  architectural  appliances,  such  mascu- 
line handling,  likely  as  it  must  be  to  retain  its  etioctiveness  when 
higher  finish  would  be  injured  by  time,  must  always  be  the  most 
expedient ;  and  as  it  is  impossible,  even  were  it  desirable  that  the 
highest  finish  should  be  given  to  the  quantity  of  work  which  covers 
a  large  building,  it  will  be  understood  how  jirecious  the  intelligence 
must  become,  which  renders  incompletion  itself  a  means  of  additional 
expression ;  and  how  great  must  be  the  difference,  when  the  touches 
are  rude  and  few,  between  those  of  a  careless  and  those  of  a  regard- 
ful mind.  It  is  not  easy  to  retiiin  anything  of  their  character  in  a 
copy ;  yet  the  reader  will  find  one  or  two  illustrative  points  in  the 
examples,  given  in  Plate  XIV.,  from  the  bas-reliefs  of  the  north  of 
Rouen  Cathedral.  There  are  three  square  pedestals  under  the  three 
main  niches  on  each  side  of  it,  and  one  in  the  centre ;  each  of  these 
being  on  two  sides  decorated  \\'ith  five  quatrefoiled  panels.  There  are 
thus  seventy  quatrefoils  in  the  lower  ornament  of  the  gate  alone, 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  143 

without  counting  those  of  the  outer  course  round  it,  and  of  the 
pedestals  outside  :  each  quatrefoil  is  tilled  with  a  bas-relief,  the  whole 
reaching  to  something  above  a  man's  height.  A  modern  architect 
would,  of  course,  have  made  all  the  iive  quatrefoils  of  each  pedestal- 
side  equal :  not  so  the  Mediajval.  The  general  form  being  apparent- 
ly a  quatrefoil  composed  of  semicircles  on  the  sides  of  a  square,  it 
will  be  found  on  examination  that  none  of  the  arcs  are  semicu-cles, 
and  none  of  the  basic  figures  squares.  The  latter  are  rhomboids, 
having  their  acute  or  obtuse  angles  uppermost  according  to  their 
larger  or  smaller  size  ;  and  the  arcs  upon  their  sides  shde  into  such 
places  as  they  can  get  in  the  angles  of  the  enclosing  parallelogram, 
leaving  intervals,  at  each  of  the  four  angles,  of  various  shapes,  which 
are  filled  each  by  an  animal.  The  size  of  the  whole  panel  being 
thus  varied,  the  two  lowest  of  the  five  are  tall,  the  next  two  short, 
and  the  uppermost  a  little  higher  than  the  lowest ;  while  in  the 
course  of  bas-reliefs  which  surrounds  the  gate,  calling  either  of  the 
two  lowest  (which  are  equal)  a,  and  either  of  the  next  two  b,  and 
the  fifth  and  sixth  c  and  (/,  then  d  (the  largest)  :  c  ::  c  :  a  ::  a  :  6.  It 
is  wonderful  how  much  of  the  grace  of  the  whole  depends  on  these 
variations. 

XXIII.  Each  of  the  angles,  it  was  said,  is  filled  by  an  animal. 
There  are  thus  T0x-i^280  animals,  all  different,  in  the  mere 
fillings  of  the  intervals  of  the  bas-reliefs.  Three  of  these  intervals, 
with  their  beasts,  actual  size,  the  curves  being  traced  upon  the  stone, 
I  have  given  in  Plate  XIV. 

I  say  nothing  of  their  general  design,  or  of  the  lines  of  the  wino-s 
and  scales,  which  are  perhaps,  unless  in  those  of  the  central  drao-on, 
not  much  above  the  usual  commonplaces  of  good  ornamental  work  ; 
but  there  is  an  e\-idence  in  the  featm-es  of  thoughtfulness  and  fancy 
which  is  not  common,  at  least  now-a-days.  The  upper  creature  on 
the  left  is  biting  something,  the  form  of  which  is  hardly  traceable  in 
the  defaced  stone — but  biting  he  is ;  and  the  reader  cannot  but 
recognise  in  the  peculiarly  reverted  eye  the  expression  which  is  never 
seen,  as  I  think,  but  in  the  eye  of  a  dog  gnawing  something  in  jest, 
and  preparing  to  start  aw^ay  with  it :  the  meaning  of  the  glance,  so  far 
as  it  can  be  marked  by  the  mere  incision  of  the  chisel,  will  be  felt 
by  comparing  it  with  the  eye  of  the  couchant  figure  on  the  right,  in 
its  gloomy  and  angry  brooding.  The  plan  of  tliis  head,  and  the  nod 
of  the  cap  over  its  brow,  are  fine  ;  but  there  is  a  httle  touch  above 


144  THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE. 

the  hand  especially  well  meant :  the  fellow  is  vexed  and  puzzled  in 
his  malice  ;  and  his  hand  is  pressed  hard  on  his  cheek  bone,  and  the 
flesh  of  the  cheek  is  wrinkled  under  the  eye  by  the  pressure.  The 
whole,  indeed,  looks  wr^'tchedly  coarse,  when  it  is  seen  on  a  scale  in 
which  it  is  naturally  compared  with  delicate  figure  etchings  ;  but 
considering  it  as  a  mere  filling  of  an  interstice  on  the  outside  of  a 
cathedral  gate,  and  as  one  of  more  than  three  hundred  (for  in  my 
estimate  I  did  not  include  the  outer  pedestiils),  it  proves  very  noble 
vitality  in  the  art  of  the  time. 

XXIV.  I  believe  the  right  question  to  ask,  respecting  all  ornament, 
is  simply  this  :  Was  it  done  with  enjoyment — was  the  car\er  happy 
while  he  was  about  it  ?  It  may  be  the  hardest  work  possible,  and  the 
liarder  because  so  much  pleasure  was  taken  in  it ;  but  it  must  have 
been  happv  too,  or  it  will  not  be  hving.  How  much  of  the  stone 
mason's  toil  this  condition  would  exclude  I  hardly  venture  to  consider, 
but  the  concUtion  is  absolute.  There  is  a  Gothic  church  lately  built 
near  Kouen,  vile  enough,  indeed,  in  its  general  composition,  but 
excessively  rich  in  detiiil ;  many  of  tlie  details  are  designed  with 
taste,  and  all  evidently  by  a  man  who  has  studied  old  work  closely. 
But  it  is  all  as  dead  as  leaves  in  December ;  there  is  not  one  tender 
touch,  not  one  warm  stroke,  on  the  whole  faqade.  Tl)e  men  who 
did  it  hated  it,  and  were  thankful  when  it  was  done.  And  so  long 
as  they  do  so  they  are  merely  loading  your  walls  with  shapes  of 
clay :  the  garlands  of  everlastings  in  Pere  la  Chaise  are  more 
cheerful  ornaments.  You  cannot  get  the  feeling  by  paying  for  it — 
money  will  not  buy  life.  I  am  not  sure  even  that  you  can  get  it  by 
watching  or  waiting  for  it.  It  is  true  that  here  and  thr-re  a  workman 
may  be  found  who  has  it  in  him,  but  he  does  not  rest  contented  in 
the  inferior  work — he  struggles  forward  into  an  Academician  ;  and 
from  the  mass  of  available  liandicrafLsmen  the  power  is  gone — how 
recoverable  I  know  not :  this  only  I  know,  that  all  expense  devoted 
to  sculptural  ornament,  in  the  present  condition  of  that  power,  comes 
literally  under  the  head  of  Sacrifice  for  the  sacrifice's  sake,  or  worse. 
1  believe  the  only  manner  of  rich  ornament  that  is  open  to  us  is  the 
geometrical  color-mosaic,  and  that  much  might  r-sult  fi-om  our 
strenuously  taking  up  this  mode  of  design.  But,  at  all  events,  one 
thing  we  have  in  our  power — the  doing  without  machine  ornament 
and  cast-iron  work.  All  the  stamped  metals,  and  artificial  stones, 
and  imitation  woods  and  bronzes,  over   the  invention  of  which  we 


THE    LAMP    OF    LIFE.  145 

hear  daily  exultation — all  the  short,  and  cheap,  and  easy  ways  of 
doing  that  whose  difficulty  is  its  honor — are  just  so  many  new 
obstacles  in  oiu-  already  encumbered  road.  They  will  not  make  one 
of  us  happier  or  wiser — they  will  extend  neither  the  pride  of  judgment 
nor  the  privilege  of  enjoj'ment.  They  will  only  make  us  shallower 
in  our  understandings,  colder  in  our  hearts,  and  feebler  in  our  wits. 
And  most  justly.  For  we  are  not  sent  into  this  world  to  do  any 
thing  into  which  we  cannot  put  our  hearts.  We  have  certain  work 
to  do  for  our  bread,  and  that  is  to  be  done  strenuously ;  other  work 
to  do  for  our  delight,  and  that  is  to  be  done  heartily  :  neither  is  to 
be  done  by  halves  or  shifts,  but  with  a  will ;  and  what  is  not  worth 
this  effort  is  not  to  be  done  at  all.  Perhaps  all  that  we  have  to  do 
is  meant  for  nothing  more  than  an  exercise  of  the  heart  and  of  the 
will,  and  is  useless  in  itself;  but,  at  all  events,  the  little  use  it  has 
may  well  be  spared  if  it  is  not  worth  putting  our  hands  and  our 
strength  to.  It  does  not  become  our  immortality  to  take  an  ease 
inconsistent  with  its  authority,  nor  to  suffer  any  instruments  with 
which  it  can  dispense,  to  come  between  it  and  the  things  it  rules : 
and  he  who  would  form  the  creations  of  his  own  mind  by  any  other 
instrument  than  his  own  hand,  would,  also,  if  he  might,  give  grinding 
organs  to  Heaven's  angels,  to  make  their  music  easier.  There  is 
dreaming  enough,  and  earthiness  enough,  and  sensuahty  enough  in 
human  existence  without  our  turning  the  few  glowing  moments  of  it 
into  mechanism  ;  and  since  our  life  must  at  the  best  be  but  a  vapor 
that  appears  for  a  little  time  and  then  vanishes  away,  let  it  at  least 
appear  as  a  cloud  in  the  height  of  Heaven,  not  as  the  thick  darkness 
that  broods  over  the  blast  of  the  Furnace,  and  rolling  of  the  Wheel. 


C  U  A  P  T  E  R     VI 


THE  LAMP  OF  MEMORY. 


I.  Among  the  liours  of  his  life  to  which  the  writer  looks  back 
with  pecuhar  gratitude,  Jis  having  been  marked  by  more  than  ordinary 
fulness  of  joy  or  clearness  of  teaching,  is  one  ]):issed,  now  souk'  years 
ago,  near  time  of  sunset,  among  the  broken  masses  of  pine  forest 
wliich  skirt  the  course  of  the  Ain,  above  the  village  of  Champjignole, 
in  the  Jura.  It  is  a  spot  which  has  all  the  solemnity,  with  none  of 
the  savageness,  of  the  Alps  ;  where  there  is  a  sense  of  a  great  power 
beginning  to  be  manifested  in  the  earth,  and  of  a  deep  and  majestic 
concord  in  the  rise  of  the  long  low  lines  of  piny  hills;  the  first 
utterance  of  those  mighty  mountain  symphonies,  soon  to  be  more 
loudly  lifted  and  wildly  broken  along  the  battlements  of  the  Alps. 
But  their  strength  is  as  yet  restrained ;  and  the  far  reaching  ridges 
of  pastoral  mountain  succeed  each  other,  like  the  long  and  sighing 
swell  which  moves  over  quiet  waters  from  some  far-otf  stormy  sea. 
And  there  is  a  deep  tenderness  per\ading  that  vast  monotony. 
The  destructive  forces  and  the  stern  expression  of  the  central  ranges 
are  alike  withdrawn.  No  frost-})loughed,  dust-encumbered  paths  of 
ancient  glacier  fret  the  s«:>ft  Jura  pastures ;  no  sjdintered  heaps  of 
ruin  break  the  fair  ranks  of  her  forests ;  no  pale,  defiled,  or  furious 
rivers  rend  their  rude  and  changeful  ways  among  her  rocks. 
Patiently,  eddy  by  eddy,  the  clear  green  streams  wind  along  their 
well-kno\\'n  beds ;  and  under  the  dark  quietness  of  the  undisturbed 
pines,  there  spring  up,  year  by  year,  such  company  of  jo}-ful  flowers 
as  I  know  not  the  hke  of  among  all  the  blessings  of  the  earth.  It 
was  Spring  time,  too ;  and  all  were  coming  forth  in  clusters  crowded 
for  very  love ;  there  was  room  enough  for  all,  but  they  crushed  their 
leaves  into  all  manner  of  strange  shajM?s  only  to  be  nearer  each 
other.  There  was  the  wood  anemone,  star  after  star,  closing  every 
now  and  then  into  nebuhe ;  and  there  was  the  oxalis,  troop  by  troop, 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  147 

like  virginal  processions  of  the  Mois  de  Marie,  the  dark  vertical  clefts 
in  the  limestone  choked  up  ■vvith  them  as  with  heavy  snow,  and 
touched  with  ivy  on  the  edges — ivy  as  light  and  lovely  as  the  vme ; 
and,  ever  and  anon,  a  blue  gush  of  violets,  and  cowshp  bells  in  sunny 
places ;  and  in  the  more  open  gi-ound,  the  vetch,  and  comfrey,  and 
Tuezereon,  and  the  small  sapphire  buils  of  the  Polygala  Alpina,  and 
the  wild  strawberry,  just  a  blossom  or  two,  all  showered  amidst  the 
golden  softness  of  deej),  warm,  amber-colored  moss.  I  came  out 
presently  on  the  edge  of  the  ra\ine :  the  solemn  murmur  of  its 
waters  rose  suddenly  fi'om  beneath,  mixed  w'ith  the  singing  of  the 
tlu'ushes  among  the  pine  boughs ;  and,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
valley,  walled  all  along  as  it  was  by  gTey  cliffs  of  hmestone,  there 
was  a  hawk  sailing  slowly  off  their  brow,  touching  them  nearly  with 
his  wings,  and  with  the  shadows  of  the  pines  flickering  upon  his 
plumage  from  above  ;  but  with  a  fall  of  a  hundred  fathoms  under 
his  breast,  and  the  curling  pools  of  the  green  river  gliding  and 
glittering  dizzily  beneath  him,  their  foam  globes  moving  with  him 
as  he  flew.  It  would  be  difficult  to  conceive  a  scene  less  dependent 
upon  any  other  interest  than  that  of  its  own  secluded  and  serious 
beaiity  ;  but  the  writer  well  remembei-s  the  sudden  blankness  and 
chill  which  were  cast  upon  it  when  he  endeavored,  in  order  more 
strictly  to  arrive  at  the  sources  of  its  impressiveness,  to  imagine  it, 
for  a  moment,  a  scene  in  some  abongnnal  forest  of  the  New  Continent. 
The  flowers  in  an  instant  lost  their  light,  the  river  its  music'^ ;  the 
hills  became  oppressivel)-  desolate ;  a  heaWness  in  the  boughs  of  the 
darkened  forest  showed  how'  much  of  their  former  power  had  been 
dependent  upon  a  life  A\liicli  was  not  theirs,  how  much  of  the  glory 
of  the  imperishable,  or  continually  renewed,  creation  is  reflected  from 
things  more  precious  in  then*  memories  than  it,  in  its  renewing. 
Those  ever  springing  flowers  and  ever  flowing  streams  had  been 
dyed  by  the  deep  colors  of  human  endurance,  valor,  and  vhtue ;  and 
the  crests  of  the  sable  hills  that  rose  against  the  evening  sky  received 
a  deeper  worship,  because  their  far  shadows  fell  eastward  over  the 
iron  wall  of  Joux  and  the  four-square  keep  of  Granson. 

II.  It  is  as  the  centrahsation  and  protectress  of  this  sacred 
influence,  that  Architecture  is  to  be  regarded  by  us  with  the  most 
serious  thought.  We  may  live  without  hei*,  and  worship  without 
her,  but  we  cannot  remember  without  her.  How  cold  is  all  history, 
how  lifeless  all  imagery,  compared  to  that  which  the  living  nation 


148  THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY. 

wintes,  and  the  uncoiTupted  marble  bears  1  how  many  pages  of 
doubtful  record  might  we  not  often  spare,  for  a  few  stones  left  one 
upon  another  !  The  ambition  of  the  old  Babel  builders  was  well 
directed  for  this  world  :  there  are  but  two  strong  eonqueroi-s  of  the 
forgetfulness  of  men,  Poetry  and  Architecture  ;  and  tlie  latter  in 
some  sort  includes  the  former,  and  is  mightier  in  its  reality  ;  it  is 
well  to  have,  not  only  what  men  have  thought  and  felt,  but  what 
their  hands  have  handled,  and  their  strength  wrought,  and  their 
eyes  beheld,  all  the  days  of  their  life.  The  age  of  Homer  is 
surrounded  with  darkness,  his  very  personality  with  doubt.  Not  so 
that  of  Pericles  :  and  the  day  is  coming  when  we  shall  confess,  that 
we  have  learned  more  of  Greece  out  of  the  crumbled  fragments  of 
her  sculpture  than  even  from  her  sweet  singers  or  soldier  historians. 
And  if  indeed  there  be  any  profit  in  our  kiiowledge  of  the  past,  or 
any  joy  in  the  thought  of  being  remembered  hereafter,  which  can 
give  strength  to  present  exertion,  or  patience  to  present  endurance, 
there  are  two  duties  respecting  national  architecture  whose  import- 
ance it  is  impossible  to  overrate  ;  the  first,  to  render  the  architecture 
of  the  day,  historical ;  and,  the  second,  to  preserve,  as  the  most 
precious  of  inheritances,  that  of  past  ages. 

III.  It  is  in  the  fii-st  of  these  two  directions  that  Memory  may 
truly  be  said  to  be  the  Sixth  Lamp  of  Architecture ;  for  it  is  in 
becoming  memorial  or  monumental  that  a  true  perfection  is  attained 
by  civil  and  domestic  buildings  ;  and  this  partly  as  they  are,  with 
such  a  ^^ew,  built  in  a  more  stiible  manner,  and  partly  as  their 
decorations  are  consequently  animated  by  a  metaphorical  or 
historical  meaning. 

As  regards  domestic  buildings,  there  must  always  be  a  certain 
limitation  to  views  of  this  kind  in  the  power,  as  well  as  in  the 
hearts!,  of  inen  ;  still  I  cannot  but  think  it  an  evil  sign  of  a  people 
when  their  houses  are  built  to  last  for  one  generation  only.  There 
is  a  sanctity  in  a  good  man's  house  which  cannot  be  renewed  in 
every  tenement  that  rises  on  its  ruins  :  and  I  believe  that  good  men 
would  generally  feel  this  ;  and  that  having  spent  their  lives  happily 
and  honorably,  they  would  be  grieved  at  the  close  of  them  to  think 
that  the  place  of  their  earthly  abode,  which  had  seen,  and  seemed 
almost  to  s}nnpathise  in  all  their  honor,  their  gladness,  or  their 
suffering, — that  this,  with  all  the  record  it  bare  of  them,  and  all  of 
material  things  that  they  had   loved   and  riUed  over,  and  set  the 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  149 

stamp  of  themselves  upon — was  to  be  swept  away,  as  soon  as  there 
was  room  made  for  them  in  the  grave  ;  that  no  respect  was  to  be 
shown  to  it,  no  affection  felt  for  it,  no  good  to  be  drawn  from  it  by 
their  children  ;  that  though  there  was  a  monument  in  the  church, 
there  was  no  warm  monument  in  the  hearth  and  house  to  them ; 
that  all  that  they  ever  treasured  was  despised,  and  the  places  that 
had  sheltered  and  comforted  them  were  dragged  down  to  the  dust. 
I  say  that  a  good  man  would  fear  this  ;  and  that,  far  more,  a  good 
son,  a  noble  descendant,  would  fear  doing  it  to  his  father's  house. 
I  say  that  if  men  lived  like  men  indeed,  their  houses  would  be 
temples — temples  which  we  should  hardly  dare  to  injm-e,  and  in 
which  it  would  make  us  holy  to  be  permitted  to  live  ;  and  there 
must  be  a  strange  dissolution  of  natural  affection,  a  strange 
imthankfulness  for  all  that  homes  have  given  and  parents  taught,  a 
strange  consciousness  that  we  have  been  unfaithful  to  our  fathei"s' 
honor,  or  that  our  own  lives  are  not  such  as  would  make  our 
dwelUngs  sacred  to  our  children,  when  each  man  would  fain  buUd 
to  himself,  and  build  for  the  little  revolution  of  his  own  hfe  only. 
And  I  look  upon  those  pitiful  concretions  of  hme  and  clay  which 
spiing  up  in  mildewed  forwardness  out  of  the  kneaded  fields  about 
our  capital — upon  those  thin,  tottering,  foundationless  shells  of 
sphntered  wood  and  imitated  stone — upon  those  gloomy  rows  of 
formahsed  minuteness,  ahke  ■s^ithout  difference  and  without  fellow- 
ship, as  solitary  as  similar — not  merely  ^^'ith  the  careless  disgust  of 
an  offended  eye,  not  merely  with  sorrow  for  a  desecrated  landscape, 
but  with  a  painful  foreboding  that  the  roots  of  om*  national 
greatness  must  be  deeply  cankered  when  they  are  thus  loosely 
struck  in  their  native  groiuid  ;  that  those  comfortless  and  uiihonored 
dwellings  are  the  signs  of  a  great  and  spreading  spirit  of  popular 
discontent ;  that  they  mark  the  time  when  every  man's  aim  is  to  be 
in  some  more  elevated  sphere  than  his  natural  one,  and  every  man's 
past  life  is  his  habitual  scorn ;  when  men  buUd  in  the  hope  of 
leaving  the  places  they  have  built,  and  hve  in  the  hope  of  forgetting 
the  years  that  they  have  hved ;  when  the  comfort,  the  peace,  the 
rehgion  of  home  have  ceased  to  be  felt ;  and  the  crowded  tenements 
of  a  struggUng  and  restless  population  differ  only  from  the  tents  of 
the  Arab  or  the  Gipsy  by  their  less  healthy  openness  to  the  air  of 
heaven,  and  less  happy  choice  of  their  spot  of  earth ;    by  their 


160  THE    LAMP    OK    MEMORY. 

sacrifice  of  liberty  without  the  gain  of  rest,  and  of  stabihty  without 
the  luxury  of  change. 

IV.  This  is  no  slight,  no  consequencelcss  evil ;  it  is  ominous, 
infectious,  and  fecund  of  other  fault  and  misfortune.  When  men  do 
not  love  their  hearths,  nor  reverence  their  thresholds,  it  is  a  sign 
that  they  have  dishonored  both,  and  that  they  have  never 
acknowlodgod  the  true  universality  of  that  Christian  worshij)  which 
was  indeed  to  supersede  the  id<jlatry,  but  not  the  piety,  of  the  pagan. 
Our  God  is  a  household  God,  as  well  as  a  heavenly  one ;  He  has  an 
altar  in  every  man's  dwelling ;  lot  men  look  to  it  when  they  rend  it 
lightly  and  j)Our  out  its  ashos.  It  is  not  a  question  of  mere  ocular 
delight,  it  is  no  question  of  intellectual  prid(%  or  of  cultivated  and 
critical  foncy,  how,  and  mth  what  aspect  of  durability  and  of  com- 
pleteness, the  domestic  buildings  of  a  nation  shall  be  raised.  It  is  one 
of  those  moral  duties,  not  mth  more  impunity  to  be  neglected 
because  the  perception  of  them  depends  on  a  finely  toned  and 
balanced  conscientiousness,  to  build  our  d\v(»Hings  with  care,  and 
patience,  and  fuTidness,  and  diligent  compU'tion,  and  with  a  \\ew  to 
their  duration  at  least  for  such  a  period  as,  in  the  ordinary  course 
of  national  revolutions,  might  be  supposed  likely  to  extend  to  the 
entire  alteration  of  the  direction  of  local  int<'rests.  This  at  the 
Icju^t ;  but  it  would  be  better  if,  in  every  possible  instance,  men 
built  their  own  houses  on  a  scale  commensurate  rather  with  their 
condition  at  the  commencement,  than  their  attainments  at  the 
termination,  of  their  worldly  career ;  and  built  them  to  stand  as 
long  as  human  work  at  its  strongest  can  be  hoped  to  stand ; 
recording  to  their  children  what  they  have  been,  and  from  what,  if 
so  it  had  been  permitted  them,  they  had  risen.  And  when  houses 
are  thus  built,  we  may  have  that  true  domestic  architecture,  the 
beginning  of  all  other,  which  does  not  disdain  to  treat  -nnth  respect 
and  thoughtfulness  the  small  habitation  as  well  as  the  large,  and 
which  in\ests  with  the  dignity  of  contented  manhood  the  narrow- 
ness of  worldly  circumstance. 

V.  I  look  to  this  spirit  of  honorable,  proud,  peaceful  self-posses- 
sion, this  abiding  wisdom  of  contented  life,  as  probably  one  of  the 
chief  sources  of  great  intellectual  power  in  all  ages,  and  beyond  dis- 
pute as  the  very  primal  source  of  the  great  architecture  of  old  Italy 
and  France.     To  this  day,  the  interest  of  their  fairest  cities  depends, 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  l51 

not  ou  the  isolated  ricliness  of  palaces,  but  on  the  cherished  and 
exquisite  decoration  of  even  the  smallest  tenements  of  their  proud 
periods.  The  most  elaborate  piece  of  architecture  in  Venice  is  a 
small  house  at  the  head  of  the  Grand  Canal,  consisting  of  a  ground 
floor  with  two  stories  above,  three  windows  in  the  first,  and  two  in 
the  second.  Many  of  the  most  exquisite  buildings  are  on  the  nar- 
rower canals,  and  of  no  larger  dimensions.  One  of  the  most  inte- 
resting pieces  of  fifteenth  century  architecture  in  North  Italy,  is  a 
small  house  in  a  back  street,  behind  the  market-place  of  Vicenza ;  it 
bears  date  1481,  and  the  motto,  II.  iHest.  rose.  sans.  ^pine. ;  it  has 
also  only  a  ground  fl(^)or  and  two  stories,  with  three  windows  in  each, 
separated  by  rich  flower-work,  and  with  balconies,  suppoi-ted,  the 
central  one  by  an  eagle  \\-\\h.  open  wings,  the  lateral  ones  by  winged 
griffins  standing  on  cornucopias.  The  idea  that  a  house  must  be 
large  in  order  to  be  well  built,  is  altogether  of  modern  growth,  and 
is  parallel  \\\i\\  the  idea,  that  no  picture  can  be  historical,  except  of 
a  size  admitting  figures  larger  than  life. 

VI.  I  would  have,  then,  our  ordinary  dwelling-houses  built  to  last, 
and  built  to  be  lovely ;  as  rich  and  full  of  pleasantness  as  may  be, 
within  and  without ;  with  what  degree  of  likeness  to  each  other  in 
style  and  manner,  I  will  say  pi-esently,  ixnder  another  head ;  but,  at 
all  events,  with  such  differences  as  might  suit  and  express  each  man's 
character  and  occupation,  and  partly  his  histoiy.  This  right  over 
the  house,  I  conceive,  belongs  to  its  first  builder,  and  is  to  be 
respected  by  his  children ;  and  it  would  be  well  that  blank  stones 
should  be  left  in  places,  to  be  inscribed  ^rith  a  summary  of  his  life 
and  of  its  experience,  raising  thus  the  habitation  into  a  kind  of  monu- 
ment, and  developing,  into  more  systematic  instructiveness,  that  good 
custom  which  was  of  old  univei"sal,  and  which  still  remains  among 
some  of  the  S\riss  and  Germans,  of  acknowledging  the  grace  of 
God's  permission  to  build  and  possess  a  quiet  resting-place,  in  such 
sweet  words  as  may  well  close  our  speaking  of  these  things.  I  have 
taken  them  from  the  front  of  a  cottage  lately  built  among  the  green 
pastures  which  descend  from  the  nllage  of  Grindelwald  to  the  lower 
glacier : — 

"  Mit  herzlichem  Vertraiien 

Hat  Johannes  Mooter  imd  Maria  Rubi 

Dieses  Haus  bauen  lassen. 

Der  liebe  Gott  woll  uns  bewahren 

Vor  allcm  Ungliick  imd  Gefahren, 


152  THK    LAMP    OF    MEMORY. 

Und  es  in  Scgen  lassen  steha 
Auf  dor  Rcisc  durch  diese  Jammerzeit 
,  Nach  dcni  hiinmlischen  Paradiese, 

VVo  alle  Froinmen  wohnen, 
Da  wird  Gotl  sie  belohnen 
Mit  der  Fricdenskrone 
Zu  alle  Ewigkeit." 

VTI.  In  public  buildings  the  historical  purpose  should  be  still 
more  definite.  It  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  Gothic  architecture, — 
I  use  the  word  Gothic  in  the  most  extended  sense  as  broadly  opposed 
to  classical, — that  it  admits  of  a  richness  of  record  altogether  unli- 
mited. Its  minute  and  multitudinous  scul]itural  decorations  afford 
means  of  expressing,  either  symbolically  or  literally,  all  that  need  be 
known  of  national  feeling  or  achievement.  More  decoration  will, 
indeed,  be  usually  rerjuired  than  can  take  so  elevated  a  character ; 
and  much,  even  in  the  most  thoughtful  periods,  has  been  left  to  the 
freedom  of  fancy,  or  suffered  to  consist  of  mere  repetitions  of  some 
national  bearing  or  symbol.  It  is,  however,  generally  unwise,  even 
in  mere  surface  ornament,  to  surrender  the  power  and  privilege  of 
variety  which  the  spirit  of  Gothic  architecture  admits  ;  much  more 
in  important  features — capitals  of  colunuis  or  bosses,  and  string- 
courses, as  of  course  in  all  confessed  b:v5-reliefs.  Better  the  rudest 
work  that  tells  a  story  or  records  a  fact,  than  the  richest  ^^^thout 
meaning.  There  should  not  be  a  single  ornament  put  upon  great 
civic  buildings,  without  some  intellectual  intention.  Actual  repre- 
sentation of  history  has  in  modern  times  been  checked  by  a  difficulty, 
mean  indeed,  l)Ut  steadf;u<t :  that  of  unmanageable  costume  ;  never- 
theless, by  a  sufficiently  bold  imaginative  treatment,  and  frank  use 
of  symbols,  all  such  obstacles  may  be  vanquished ;  not  perhaps  in 
the  degree  necessary  to  produce  sculpture  in  itself  satisfactor}',  but 
at  all  events  so  as  to  enable  it  to  become  a  grand  and  expressive 
element  of  architectural  composition.  Take,  for  example,  the  ma- 
njigement  of  the  capitals  of  the  ducal  palace  at  Venice.  Ilistijry,  as 
such,  was  indeed  entrusted  to  the  painters  of  its  interior,  but  every 
capital  of  its  arcades  was  tilled  with  meaning.  The  large  one,  the 
comer  stone  of  the  whole,  next  the  entrance,  was  devoted  to  the 
symbolisation  of  Abstract  Justice ;  alx>ve  it  is  a  sculjiture  of  the 
Judgment  of  Solomon,  remarkable  for  a  beautiful  subjection  in  its 
treatment  to  its  decorative  purpose.     The  figures,  if  the  subject  had 


THE   LAMP    OF   MEMORY.  153 

been  entirely  composed  of  them,  would  have  awkwardly  interrupted 
the  hne  of  the  angle,  and  diminished  its  apparent  strength;  and 
therefore  in  the  midst  of  them,  entirely  without  relation  to  them, 
and  indeed  actually  between  the  executioner  and  interceding  mother, 
there  rises  the  ribbed  trunk  of  a  massy  tree,  which  supports  and 
continues  the  shaft  of  the  angle,  and  whose. leaves  above  overshadoAv 
and  enrich  the  whole.  The  capital  below  bears  among  its  leafage  a 
throned  figure  of  Justice,  Trajan  doing  justice  to  the  widow,  Aristotle 
"  che  die  legge,"  and  one  or  two  other  subjects  now  unintelligible 
fi-om  decay.  The  capitals  next  in  order  represent  the  virtues  and 
vices  in  succession,  as  preser\ative  or  destructive  of  national  peace 
and  power,  concluchng  Avith  Faith,  with  the  mscription  "  Fides  optima 
in  Deo  est."  A  figure  is  seen  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  capital, 
worshipping  the  sun.  After  these,  one  or  two  capitals  are  fancifully 
decorated  with  birds  (Plate  V.),  and  then  come  a  series  representing, 
first  the  various  fruits,  then  the  national  costumes,  and  then  the  ani- 
mals of  tlie  various  countries  subject  to  Venetian  rule. 

VIII.  Now,  not  to  speak  of  any  more  important  public  building, 
let  us  imagine  our  own  India  House  adorned  in  this  way,  by  his- 
torical or  symbolical  sculpture  :  massively  built  in  the  first  place ; 
then  chased  A\ith  bas-rehefs  of  our  Indian  battles,  and  fretted  with 
car\ings  of  Oriental  foliage,  or  inlaid  with  Oriental  stones ;  and  the 
more  important  members  of  its  decoration  composed  of  groups  of 
Indian  life  and  landscape,  and  prominently  expressing  the  phantasms 
of  Hindoo  worship  in  their  subjection  to  the  Cross.  Would  not  one 
such  work  be  better  than  a  thousand  histories  ?  If,  however,  we 
have  not  the  invention  necessary  for  such  efforts,  or  if,  which  is  pro- 
bably one  of  the  most  noble  excuses  we  can  offer  for  oiir  deficiency 
in  such  matters,  we  have  less  pleasiu-e  in  talking  about  ourselves, 
even  in  marble,  than  the  Continental  nations,  at  least  we  have  no 
excuse  for  any  want  of  care  in  the  points  which  msure  the  builder's 
endurance.  And  as  this  question  is  one  of  great  interest  in  its  rela- 
tions to  the  choice  of  various  modes  of  decoration,  it  will  be  necessary 
to  enter  into  it  at  some  length. 

IX.  Tlie  benevolent  regards  and  purposes  of  men  in  masses  seldom 
can  be  supposed  to  extend  beyond  their  own  generation.  They  may 
look  to  posterity  as  an  audience,  may  hope  for  its  attention,  and 
labor  for  its  praise :  they  may  trust  to  its  recognition  of  unacknow- 
ledged merit,  and  demand  its  justice  for  contemporary  wiong.     But 

1* 


154  THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORT. 

all  this  is  mere  selfishness,  and  does  not  involve  the  slightest  regard 
to,  or  consideration  of,  the  interest  of  those  bv  whose  numbers  we 
would  fain  swell  the  circle  of  our  flatterers,  and  by  whose  authority 
we  would  gladly  support  our  presently  disputed  claims.  The  idea 
of  self-denial  fur  the  sake  of  [>osterity,  of  jiractising  present  economy 
for  the  sake  of  debtors  yet  unborn,  of  planting  forests  that  our 
descendants  may  live  under  their  shade,  or  of  raising  cities  for  future 
nations  to  inhaliit,  never,  I  suppose,  efficiently  takes  place  among 
publicly  recognised  motives  of  exertion.  Yet  these  are  not  the  less 
our  duti«'s  ;  nor  is  our  part  fitly  sustained  upon  the  earth,  unless  the 
range  of  our  intended  and  deliberate  usefulness  include  not  only  the 
companions,  but  the  successors,  of  our  pilgrimage.  God  has  lent 
us  the  earth  for  our  hfe  ;  it  is  a  great  entaiU  It  belongs  as  much  to 
those  who  are  to  come  after  us,  and  whose  names  are  already  written 
in  the  book  of  creation,  as  to  us ;  and  we  have  no  right,  by  anything 
that  we  do  or  neglect,  to  involve  them  in  unnecessary  penalties,  or 
deprive  them  of  benefits  which  it  was  in  our  power  to  bequeath. 
And  this  the  more,  because  it  is  one  of  the  appointed  conditions  of 
the  labor  of  men  that,  in  proportion  to  the  time  l)etween  the  seed- 
sowing  and  the  harvest,  is  the  fulness  of  the  fruit ;  and  that  gene- 
rally, therefore,  the  farther  off  we  place  our  aim,  and  the  less  we 
desire  to  be  ourselves  the  witnesses  of  what  we  have  labored  for,  the 
more  wide  and  rich  will  be  the  measiu-e  of  our  success.  Men  can- 
not bent'fit  those  that  are  with  them  as  tliev  can  l)enefit  those  who 
come  after  them ;  and  of  fill  the  pulpits  from  which  human  voice  is 
ever  sent  forth,  there  is  none  from  which  it  reaches  so  far  as  fi-om  the 
grave. 

X.  Nor  is  there,  indeed,  any  present  loss,  in  such  respect  for 
futurity.  Every  human  action  gains  in  honor,  in  grace,  in  all  true 
magnificence,  liy  it^  regard  to  things  that  are  to  come.  It  is  the  far 
sight,  the  quiet  and  confident  patience,  that,  above  all  other  at- 
tributes, separate  man  from  man,  and  near  him  to  his  Maker ;  and 
there  is  no  action  nor  art,  whose  majesty  we  may  not  measure  by 
tliis  test.  Therefure,  when  we  build,  let  us  think  that  we  build  for 
ever.  Let  it  not  be  for  present  delight,  nor  for  present  use  alone ; 
let  it  be  such  work  as  our  descendants  will  thank  us  for,  and  let  us 
think,  as  we  lay  stone  on  stone,  that  a  time  is  to  come  when  those 
stones  will  be  held  sacred  Ijecause  our  hands  have  touched  them, 
and  that  men  will  say  as  they  look  uj)on  tlie  labor  and  wrought 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  155 

substance  of  them,  "  See  !  this  our  fathers  did  for  us."  For,  indeed, 
the  greatest  glory  of  a  building  is  not  in  its  stones,  or  in  its  gold. 
Its  glory  is  in  its  Age,  and  in  that  deep  sense  of  voicefulness,  of 
stern  watching,  of  mysterious  sympathy,  nay,  even  of  approval  or 
condemnation,  which  we  feel  in  walls  that  have  long  been  washed 
by  the  passing  waves  of  humanity.  It  is  in  their  lasting  witness 
against  men,  in  their  quiet  contrast  with  the  transitional  character 
of  all  things,  in  the  strength  which,  through  the  lapse  of  seasons  and 
times,  and  the  decline  and  birth  of  dynasties,  and  the  changing  of  the 
face  of  the  earth,  and  of  the  limits  of  the  sea,  maintains  its  sculptured 
shapeUness  for  a  time  insuperable,  connects  forgotten  and  following 
ages  with  each  other,  and  half  constitutes  the  identity,  as  it  concen- 
trates the  snnpathy,  of  nations ;  it  is  in  that  golden  stain  of  time, 
that  we  are  to  look  for  the  real  light,  and  color,  and  preciousness  of 
architecture  ;  and  it  is  not  until  a  building  has  assumed  this  charac- 
ter, till  it  has  been  entrusted  with  the  fame,  and  hallowed  by  the 
deeds  of  men,  till  its  walls  have  been  witnesses  of  suffering,  and  its 
pillars  rise  out  of  the  shadows  of  death,  that  its  existence,  more 
lasting  as  it  is  than  that  of  the  natural  objects  of  the  world  around 
it,  can  be  gifted  with  even  so  much  as  these  possess  of  language  and 
of  hfe. 

XI.  For  that  j^eriod,  then,  we  must  build  ;  not,  indeed,  reflising 
to  ourselves  the  delight  of  present  completion,  nor  hesitating  to 
follow  such  portions  of  character  as  may  depend  upon  delicacy  of 
execution  to  the  highest  perfection  of  which  they  are  capable,  even 
although  we  may  know  that  in  the  course  of  years  such  details  must 
perish ;  but  taking  care  that  for  work  of  this  kind  we  sacrifice  no 
enduring  quality,  and  that  the  building  shall  not  depend  for  its 
impressiveness  upon  anything  that  is  perishable.  This  would, 
indeed,  be  the  law  of  good  composition  under  any  circumstances,  the 
arrangement  of  the  larger  masses  being  always  a  matter  of  greater 
importance  than  the  treatment  of  the  smaller ;  but  in  architectm'e 
there  is  much  in  that  very  treatment  which  is  skilful  or  otherwise 
in  proportion  to  its  just  regard  to  the  probable  effects  of  time :  and 
(which  is  still  more  to  be  considered)  there  is  a  beauty  in  those 
effects  themselves,  which  nothing  else  can  replace,  and  which  it  is 
our  Tvisdom  to  consult  and  to  desire.  For  though,  hitherto,  we  have 
been  speaking  of  the  sentiment  of  age  only,  there  is  an  actual 
beauty  in  the  marks  of  it,  such  and  so  great  as  to  have  become  not 


156  THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY. 

imfi-equentlj'  tlio  siilyoct  of  especial  clioitN'  among  cert<'iin  schools  of 
art,  and  to  have  impressed  upon  those  schools  the  character  iisually 
and  loosely  expressed  by  the  term  "  picturesque."  It  is  of  some 
importance  to  our  present  purj)ose  to  determine  the  true  meaning 
of  this  expression,  as  it  is  now  generally  used ;  for  there  is  a  princi- 
ple to  1)e  developed  from  that  use  which,  while  it  has  occultly  been 
the  ground  of  nuich  that  is  true  and  just  in  our  judgment  of  art,  has 
never  been  so  far  understood  as  to  become  definitely  serviceable. 
Probably  no  word  in  the  language  (exclusive  of  theological  expres- 
sions), has  been  the  subjeet  of  so  frequent  or  so  prolonged  dispute; 
yet  none  remained  more  vague  in  their  acceptance,  and  it  seems  to 
me  to  be  a  matter  of  no  small  interest  to  investigate  the  essence  of 
that  idea  which  all  feel,  and  (to  appearance)  with  resj>ect  to  similar 
things,  and  yet  which  every  attempt  to  define  has,  as  I  believe, 
ended  either  in  mere  enumeration  of  the  effects  and  objects  to  which 
the  term  h:us  been  attatlied,  or  else  in  attempts  at  abstraction  more 
pal])ably  nugatory  than  any  which  have  disgraced  metaphysical 
investigation  on  other  subjects.  A  recent  critic  on  Art,  for  instance, 
has  gravely  advanced  the  theory  that  the  essence  of  the  picturesque 
consists  in  the  expression  of  "  uniwrsfil  decay."  It  would  be  curious 
to  see  the  result  of  an  attem])t  to  illustrate  this  idea  of  the  ]>ic- 
turesque,  in  a  painting  of  dead  flowers  and  decayed  fi-uit,  and 
equally  curious  to  trace  the  steps  of  any  reasoning  which,  on  such  a 
theory,  should  account  for  the  picturcsqueness  of  an  ass  colt  as 
opposed  to  a  horee  foal.  But  there  is  much  excuse  for  even  the 
most  utter  failure  in  reasonings  of  this  kind,  since  the  subject  is, 
indeed,  one  of  the  most  obscure  of  all  that  may  legitimately  be 
submitted  to  human  reason ;  and  the  idea  is  itself  so  varied  in  the 
minds  of  difftTent  men,  according  to  their  subjects  of  study,  that  no 
definition  can  be  expected  to  embrace  more  than  a  certain  number 
of  its  infinitely  multijilied  forms. 

XII.  That  peculiar  character,  however,  which  separates  the 
picturesque  from  the  characters  of  subject  belonging  to  the  higher 
walks  of  art  (and  this  is  all  that  it  is  necessary  for  our  present  pur- 
pose to  define),  may  be  shortly  and  decisively  expressed.  Pic- 
tures([ueness,  in  this  sense,  is  Parasitical  Siihliiiiitij.  Of  course  all 
sublimity,  as  well  as  all  U'auty,  is,  in  the  s^imple  etymological  sense, 
picturesque,  that  is  to  say,  fit  to  become  the  subject  of  a  picture  ;  and 
all  subhmity  is,  even  in  the  peculiar  sense  which  I  am  endeavoring 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  ISY 

to  develope,  picturesque,  as  opposed  to  beauty ;  that  is  to  say,  there 
is  more  picturesqueuoss  in  the  sulyect  of  Michael  Angelo  than  of  Peru- 
giiio,  in  proportion  to  the  prevalence  of  the  subhnie  element  over  the 
beautiful.  But  that  chai-acter,  of  which  the  extreme  pursuit  is  gene- 
rally admitted  to  be  degrading  to  art,  is  parasitical  subhmity  ;  i.  e.,  a 
sublimity  dependent  on  the  accidents,  or  on  the  least  essential  cha- 
racters, of  the  objects  to  -which  it  belongs ;  and  the  picturesque  is 
developed  distinctively  exactly  in  proportion  to  the  distance  fi-om  the 
centre  of  thought  of  those  points  of  character  in  which  the  sublimity 
is  found.  Two  ideas,  therefore,  are  essential  to  picturesqueness, — 
the  first,  that  of  sublimity  (for  pure  beauty  is  not  picturesque  at  all, 
and  becomes  so  only  as  the  sublime  element  mixes  with  it),  and  the 
second,  the  subordinate  or  par:i-sitical  position  of  that  sublimity.  Of 
course,  therefore,  whatever  characters  of  line  or  shade  or  expression  are 
productive  of  sublimity,  will  become  productive  of  picturesqueness ; 
what  these  characters  are  I  shall  endeavor  hereafter  to  show  at 
length  ;  but,  among  those  which  are  generally  acknowledged,  I  may 
name  angular  and  broken  lines,  vigorous  oppositions  of  light  and 
shadow,  and  grave,  deep,  or  boldly  contrastijd  color ;  and  all  these 
are  in  a  still  higher  ciegree  etFective,  when,  by  resemblance  or 
association,  they  remind  us  of  objects  on  which  a  true  and  essential 
sublimity  exists,  as  of  rocks  or  mountains,  or  stormy  clouds  or  waves. 
Now  if  these  characters,  or  any  others  uf  a  liigher  and  more  abstract 
sublimity,  be  found  in  the  very  heart  and  substance  of  what  we 
contemplate,  as  the  sublimity  of  Michael  Angelo  depends  on  the 
expression  of  mental  character  in  his  figures  far  more  than  even  on 
the  noble  lines  of  their  arrangement,  the  art  which  represents  such 
characters  cannot  be  properly  called  picturesque :  but,  if  they  be 
found  in  the  accidental  or  external  qualities,  the  distinctive  pic- 
turesque will  be  the  result. 

XIII.  Thus,  in  the  treatment  of  the  features  of  the  human  face 
by  Francia  or  Angelico,  the  shadows  arc  employed  only  to  make  the 
contours  of  the  features  thoroughly  felt ;  and  to  those  features  them- 
selves the  mind  of  the  observer  is  exclusively  directed  (that  is  to  say, 
to  the  essential  characters  of  the  thing  represented).  All  power 
and  all  sublimity  rest  on  these ;  the  shadows  are  used  only  for  the 
sake  of  the  features.  On  the  contrary,  by  Rembrandt,  Salvator,  or 
Cai-avaggio,  the  features  are  used  for  tlie  sake  of  the  shadows  ;  and 
the  attention  is  directed,  and  the  power  of  the  painter  addressed  to 


158  THE    LAMP    OF   MEMORY. 

characters  of  accidental  light  and  shade  cast  across  or  around  those 
features.  In  the  case  of  Rembrandt  there  is  often  an  essential 
sublimity  in  invention  and  expression  besides,  and  always  a  high 
degree  of  it  in  the  light  and  shade  itself;  but  it  is  for  the  most  part 
parasitical  or  engrafted  sublimity  as  regards  the  subject  of  the 
painting,  and,  just  so  far,  picturesque. 

XIV.  Again,  in  the  management  of  the  sculptures  of  the 
Parthenon,  shadow  is  frequently  employed  as  a  dark  lield  on  which 
the  forms  are  drawn.  This  is  visibly  the  case  in  the  metopes,  and 
nmst  have  been  nearly  as  much  so  in  the  pediment.  But  the  use 
of  that  shadow  is  entirely  to  show  the  confines  of  the  figures  ;  and  it 
is  to  their  lines,  and  not  to  the  shapes  of  the  shadows  behind  them, 
that  the  art  and  the  eye  are  addressed.  The  figures  themselves  are 
conceived  as  much  as  ]Hissible  in  full  light,  aided  by  bright  reflections ; 
they  are  drawn  exactly  as,  on  vases,  white  figures  on  a  dark  ground: 
and  the  scul]itors  have  dispensed  with,  or  even  struggled  to  avoid, 
all  shadows  which  were  not  absolutely  necessary  to  the  explaining 
of  the  form.  On  the  contrary,  in  Gothic  sculpture,  the  shadow 
becomes  itself  a  subject  of  thought.  It  is  considered  as  a  dark 
color,  to  be  arranged  in  certain  agi'cealile  masses ;  the  figures 
are  very  frequently  made  even  sulxirdinate  to  the  placing  of  its 
dinsions  :  and  their  costume  is  enriched  at  the  expense  of  the  forms 
underneath,  in  order  to  increase  the  complexity  and  variety  of  the 
points  of  shade.  There  are  thus,  both  in  sculpture  and  painting, 
two,  in  some  sort,  opposite  schools,  of  which  the  one  follows  for  its 
subject  the  essential  forms  of  things,  and  the  other  the  accidental  lights 
and  shades  ujwn  them.  There  are  various  degrees  of  their  contra- 
riety :  middle  steps,  as  in  the  works  of  Correggio,  and  all  degrees 
of  nobility  and  of  degradation  in  the  several  manners  :  but  the  one 
is  always  recognised  its  the  pure,  and  the  other  as  the  picturesque 
scho<jl.  Portions  of  picturesque  treatment  will  ]je  found  in  Greek 
work,  and  of  pure  and  unpicturesque  in  Gothic ;  and  in  l)oth  there 
are  countless  instances,  as  pre-eminently  in  the  works  of  Michael 
Angelo,  in  which  shadows  become  valuable  as  media  of  ex|»ression^ 
and  therefore  take  rank  among  essential  characteristics.  Into 
these  multitudinous  distinctions  and  exce]itions  1  cannot  now  enter, 
desiring  only  to  prove  the  broad  api)licability  of  the  general 
definition. 

XV,  Again,  the    distinction   will    be  found    to  exist,  not  only 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  150 

between  forms  and  shades  as  subjects  of  choice,  but  between  essential 
and  inessential  forms.  One  of  the  chief  distinctions  between  the 
dramatic  and  picturesque  schools  of  sculpture  is  foimd  in  the  treat- 
ment of  the  hair.  By  the  artists  of  the  time  of  Pericles  it  was 
considered  as  an  excrescence  ",  indicated  by  few  and  rude  hues,  and 
subordinated  in  every  particular  to  the  principahty  of  the  features  and 
person.  How  completely  this  was  an  artistical,  not  a  national  idea, 
it  is  unnecessary  to  prove.  We  need  but  remember  the  emplo}Taent 
of  the  Lacedaemonians,  reported  by  the  Persian  spy  on  the  evening 
before  the  battle  of  Thermopylge,  or  glance  at  any  Homeric  descrip- 
tion of  ideal  form,  to  see  how  purely  sculjjturesque  was  the  law 
which  reduced  the  markings  of  the  hair,  lest,  under  the  necessary 
disadvantages  of  material,  they  should  interfere  with  the  distinctness 
of  the  personal  fonns.  On  the  contrary,  in  later  sculpture,  the  hair 
receives  almost  the  princii)al  care  of  the  workman ;  and  while  the 
features  and  limbs  are  clumsily  and  bluntly  executed,  the  hair  is 
curled  and  twisted,  cut  into  bold  and  shadowy  projections,  and 
arranged  in  masses  elaborately  ornamental  :  there  is  true  sublimity 
in  the  hues  and  the  chiaroscm-o  of  these  masses,  but  it  is,  as  regards 
the  creatiu-e  represented,  parasitical,  and  therefore  picturesque.  In 
the  same  sense  we  may  underetand  the  application  of  the  temi  to 
modern  animal  painting,  distinguished  as  it  has  been  by  pecuhar 
attention  to  the  colors,  lustre,  and  textiu-e  of  skin ;  nor  is  it  in  art 
alone  that  the  definition  will  hold.  In  animals  themselves,  when 
their  subhmity  depends  upon  then'  muscular  forms  or  motions,  or 
necessary  and  principal  attributes,  as  perhaps  more  than  all  others 
in  the  hoi-se,  we  do  not  call  them  picturesque,  but  consider  them  as 
pecuharly  tit  to  be  associated  with  pure  historical  subject.  Exactly 
in  proportion  as  their  character  of  sublimity  passes  into  excrescences ; 
— into  mane  and  beard  as  in  the  lion,  into  horns  as  in  the  stag,  into 
shaggy  hide  as  in  the  instance  above  given  of  the  ass  colt,  into 
variegation  as  in  the  zebra,  or  into  plumage, — they  become  pictu- 
resque, and  are  so  in  art  exactly  in  proportion  to  the  prominence  of 
these  excrescential  characters.  It  may  often  be  most  ex'pedient  that 
they  should  be  prominent ;  often  there  is  in  them  the  highest  degree 
of  majesty,  as  in  those  of  the  leopard  and  boar ;  and  in  the 
hands  of  men  hke  Tintoret  and  Rubens,  such  attributes  become 
means  of  deepening  the  very  highest  and  most  ideal  impressions. 
But  the  pict\xresque  direction  of  their  thoughts  is  always  distinctly 


160  THE    LAMP    OF   MEMORT. 

recognizable,  as  clinging  to  the  surface,  to  the  less  essential 
character,  and  as  developing  out  of  this  a  sublimity  different 
from  that  of  the  creature  itself;  a  sublimity  which  is,  in  a  sort, 
common  to  all  the  objects  of  creation,  and  the  same  in  its  constituent 
elements,  whether  it  be  sought  in  the  clefts  and  folds  of  shaggy  hair, 
or  in  the  chasms  and  rents  of  rocks,  or  in  the  hanging  of  thickets  or 
hill  sides,  or  in  the  alternations  of  gaiety  and  gloom  in  the  variegation 
of  the  shell,  the  plume,  or  the  cloud. 

XVI.  Now,  to  return  to  our  immediate  subject,  it  so  happens  that, 
in  architecture,  the  superinduced  and  accidental  beauty  is  most 
commonly  inconsistent  with  the  preservation  of  original  character, 
and  the  picturesque  is  therefore  sought  in  ruin,  and  supposed  to 
consist  in  decay.  Whereas,  even  when  so  sought,  it  consists  in  the 
mere  sublimity  of  the  rents,  or  fractures,  or  stains,  or  veget^xtion, 
which  assimilate  the  architecture  with  the  work  of  Nature,  and 
bestow  upon  it  those  circumstances  of  color  and  form  which  are 
universally  beloved  by  the  eye  of  man.  So  far  as  this  is  done,  to 
the  extinction  of  the  true  characters  of  the  architecture,  it  is  pictu- 
resque, and  the  artist  who  looks  to  the  stem  of  the  ivy  instead  of 
the  shaft  of  the  jnllar,  is  carr}ing  out  in  more  daring  freedom  the 
debased  sculptor's  choice  of  the  hair  instead  of  the  countenance,  liut 
60  far  as  it  can  be  rendered  consistent  with  the  inherent  character, 
the  picturesque  or  extraneous  sublimity  of  architecture  has  just  this 
of  nobler  function  in  it  than  that  of  any  other  object  whatsoever, 
that  it  is  an  exponent  of  age,  of  that  in  which,  as  has  been  said,  the 
greatest  glory  of  a  building  consists ;  and,  therefore,  the  external 
signs  of  this  glorj'-,  haN-ing  power  and  purpose  greater  than  any 
belonging  to  their  mere  sensible  beauty,  may  be  considered  as  taking 
rank  among  puro  and  essential  characters ;  so  essential  to  my 
mind,  that  I  think  a  building  cannot  be  considered  as  in  its  prime 
until  four  or  five  centuries  have  passed  over  it ;  and  that  the  entire 
choice  and  arrangement  of  its  details  should  have  reference  to  their 
appearance  after  that  jieriod,  so  that  none  should  be  admitted  wliich 
would  suffer  material  injury  either  by  the  weather-staining,  or 
tlie  mechanical  degradation  \\  hich  the  lapse  of  such  a  period  would 
necessitate. 

XVII.  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  enter  into  any  of  the  questions 
which  the  application  of  this  principle  involves.  They  are  of  too 
great  interest  and  complexity  to  be  even  touched  upon  within  my 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  161 

jjrosent  limits,  but  this  is  broadly  to  be  noticed,  that  those  styles  of 
architecture  which  are  picturesque  in  the  sense  above  explained  with 
respect  to  sculpture,  that  is  to  say,  whose  decoration  depends  on  the 
arrangement  of  points  of  shade  rather  than  on  piirity  of  outhne, 
do  not  suffer,  but  commonly  gain  in  richness  of  effect  when  their 
details  are  partly  worn  away ;  hence  such  styles,  pre-eminently  that 
of  French  Gothic,  should  always  be  adopted  when  the  materials  to 
be  cm]tloyed  are  liable  to  degradation,  as  brick,  sandstone,  or  soft 
limestone  ;  and  styles  in  any  degTee  dependent  on  purity  of  line,  as 
the  Italian  Gotliic,  must  be  practised  altogether  in  hard  and  uncle- 
composing  materials,  granite  serpentine,  or  crj'stalhne  marbles. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  nature  of  the  accessible  materials 
influenced  the  formation  of  both  styles ;  and  it  should  stiU  more 
authoritatively  determine  our  choice  of  either. 

XVIII.  It  does  not  belong  to  my  present  plan  to  consider  at 
length  the  second  head  of  duty  of  which  I  have  above  spoken ;  the 
preservation  of  the  architecture  we  possess  :  but  a  few  words  may 
be  forgiven,  as  especially  necessary  in  modern  times.  Neither  by 
the  pubhc,  nor  by  those  who  have  the  care  of  pubhc  monuments,  is 
the  true  meaning  of  the  word  restoration  undei-stood.  It  means 
the  most  total  destruction  which  a  building  can  suffer :  a  destruc- 
tion out  of  which  no  remnants  can  be  gathered ;  a  destruction 
accompanied  with  false  description  of  the  thing  destroyed.  Do  not 
let  us  deceive  ourselves  in  this  important  matter  ;  it  is  imiMSsible,  as 
impossible  as  to  i"aise  the  dead,  to  restore  anything  that  has  ever 
been  great  or  beautifid  in  architecture.  That  which  I  have  above 
insisted  upon  as  the  hfe  of  the  whole,  that  spirit  which  is  given 
only  by  the  hand  and  eye  of  the  workman,  never  can  be  recalled. 
Another  spirit  may  be  given  by  another  time,  and  it  is  then  a  new 
building ;  but  the  spirit  of  the  dead  workman  cannot  be  smnmoned 
up,  and  commanded  to  du'ect  other  hands,  and  other  thoughts. 
And  as  for  direct  and  simple  copj'ing,  it  is  palpably  impossible. 
"What  copying  can  there  be  of  surfaces  that  have  been  worn  half  an 
inch  down  ?  The  whole  finish  of  the  work  was  in  the  half  inch 
that  is  gone  ;  if  you  attempt  to  restore  that  finish,  you  do  it  conjec- 
turally  ;  if  you  copy  what  is  left,  granting  fidelity  to  be  possible 
(and  what  care,  or  watchfulness,  or  cost  can  secure  it  ?),  how  is  the 
new  work  better  than  the  old  ?  There  was  yet  in  the  old  some  hfe, 
some  mysterious  suggestion  of  what  it  had  been,  and  of  what  it  had 


162  THE  LA^^•  of  memory. 

lost  *  some  sweetness  in  the  gentle  lines  which  rain  and  s\m  had 
wrought.  There  can  be  none  in  the  brute  hardness  of  the  new 
carving.  Look  at  the  animals  which  I  have  given  in  Plate  14.,  as 
an  instance  of  living  work,  and  su])pose  the  markings  of  the  scales 
and  hair  once  worn  away,  or  the  wrinkles  of  the  brows,  and  who 
shall  ever  restore  them  ?  The  first  step  to  restoration  (I  have  seen 
it,  and  that  again  and  again,  seen  it  on  the  Ba]>tistery  of  Pisa,  seen 
it  on  the  Casa  d'  Oro  at  Venice,  seen  it  on  the  Cathedral  of  LLsieux), 
is  to  dash  the  old  work  to  pieces  ;  the  second  is  usually  to  put  up  the 
cheapest  and  ba.sest  imitation  which  can  escape  detection,  but  in  all 
cases,  however  careiid,  and  however  labored,  an  imitation  still,  a  cold 
model  of  such  parts  as  can  be  modelled,  with  conjectural  supplements  ; 
and  my  experience  has  as  yet  furnished  me  with  only  one  instance,  that 
of  the  Palais  do  Justice  at  Rouen,  in  which  even  this,  the  utmost  de- 
gree of  tidelity  which  is  possible,  has  been  attained  or  even  attempted. 
XIX.  Do  not  let  us  talk  then  of  restoration.  The  thing  is  a  Lie 
from  beginning  to  end.  You  may  make  a  model  of  a  building  as 
you  may  of  a  corj)se,  and  your  model  may  have  the  shell  of  the  old 
walls  within  it  as  your  cast  might  ha\e  the  skeleton,  with  what 
advantage  I  neither  see  nor  care ;  but  the  old  building  is  destroyed, 
and  that  more  totally  and  mercilessly  than  if  it  had  sunk  into  a 
heap  of  dust,  or  melted  into  a  mass  of  clay  :  more  has  been  gleaned, 
out  of  desolate^l  Nineveh  than  ever  will  be  out  of  re-built  Milan. 
But,  it  is  said,  there  may  cojne  a  necessity  for  restoration  I  Granted. 
Look  the  necessity  full  in  the  face,  and  undei-stand  it  on  its  own 
terms.  It  is  a  necessity  for  destruction.  Accept  it  as  such,  pull  the 
building  down,  throw  its  stones  itito  neglected  cornel's,  make  ballast 
of  them,  or  mortar,  if  you  \\\\\ ;  but  do  it  honestly,  and  do  not  set 
up  a  Lie  in  their  place.  And  look  that  necessity  in  the  face  Wfore 
it  comes,  and  you  may  prevent  it.  The  principle  of  modern  times 
(a  princii)le  which  I  believe,  at  least  in  France,  to  be  systematically 
acted  on  by  the  masons,  in  order  to  find  themselves  work,  as  tlie 
abbey  of  St.  Ouen  was  pulled  down  by  the  magistrates  of  the  town 
by  way  of  giving  work  to  some  vagrants,)  is  to  neglect  buildings 
fii-st,  and  restore  them  afterwards.  Take  proj>er  care  of  your  monu- 
ments, and  you  will  not  need  to  restore  them.  A  few  sheets  of  lead 
put  in  time  upon  the  roof,  a  few  dead  leaves  and  sticks  swept  in 
time  out  of  a  water-course,  will  save  both  roof  and  walls  from  ruin. 
Watch  an  old  building  with  an  anxious  care  ;  guard  it  as  Ijest  you 


THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  163 

may,  and  at  any  cost,  fi-om  every  influence  of  dilapidation.  Count 
its  stones  as  you  would  jewels  of  a  crown ;  set  watches  about  it  as 
if  at  the  gates  of  a  besieged  city  ;  bind  it  together  with  iron  where 
it  loosens ;  stay  it  with  timber  where  it  declines ;  do  not  care  about 
the  unsightliness  of  the  aid  ;  bettor  a  crutch  than  a  lost  hnib  ;  and 
do  this  tenderly,  and  reverently,  and  continually,  and  many  a  genera- 
tion will  still  be  born  and  pass  away  beneath  its  shadow.  Its  evil 
day  must  come  at  last ;  but  let  it  come  declaredly  and  openly,  and 
let  no  dishonoring  and  false  substitute  deprive  it  of  the  funeral 
offices  of  memory. 

XX.  Of  more  wanton  or  ignorant  ravage  it  is  vain  to  speak  ;  my 
words  will  not  reach  those  who  commit  them,  and  yet,  be  it  heard 
or  not,  I  must  not  leave  the  truth  unstated,  that  it  is  again  no  ques- 
tion of  expediency  or  feeling  whether  we  shall  preserve  the  buildingi? 
of  past  times  or  not.  We  have  no  right  ivhatevcr  to  touch  them. 
They  are  not  ours.  They  belong  partly  to  those  who  built  them, 
and  partly  to  all  the  generations  of  mankind  who  are  to  follow  us. 
Tlie  dead  have  still  their  right  in  them :  that  which  they  labored 
for,  the  praise  of  achievement  or  the  expression  of  rehgious  feeling, 
or  whatsoever  else  it  might  be  which  in  those  buildings  they 
intended  to  be  permanent,  we  have  no  right  to  obliterate.  ^\Tbat 
we  have  oui-selves  built,  we  are  at  liberty  to  throw  down ;  but  what 
other  men  gave  their  strena(;h  and  wealth  and  life  to  accomplish, 
their  right  over  does  not  pass  away  with  their  death  ;  still  less  is  the 
right  to  the  use  of  what  they  have  left  vested  in  us  only.  It 
belongs  to  all  their  successors.  It  may  hereafter  be  a  subject  of 
sorrow,  or  a  cause  of  injury,  to  millions,  that  we  have  consulted  our 
present  convenience  by  casting  do^\^l  such  buildings  as  we  choose  to 
dispense  with.  That  sorrow,  that  loss  we  have  no  right  to  inflict. 
Did  the  cathedral  of  A\Tanches  belong  to  the  mob  who  destroyed 
it,  any  more  than  it  did  to  us,  who  walk  in  sorrow  to  and  fro  over 
its  foundation  ?  Neither  does  any  building  whatever  belong  to  those 
mobs  who  do  violence  to  it.  For  a  mob  it  is,  and  must  be  always  ; 
it  matters  not  whether  enraged,  or  in  dehberate  folly ;  whether 
countless,  or  sitting  in  committees  ;  the  people  who  destroy  anything 
causelessly  are  a  mob,  and  Architecture  is  always  destroyed  cause- 
lessly. A  fair  building  is  necessarily  worth  the  ground  it  stands 
upon,  and  will  be  so  until  central  Africa  and  America  shall  have 
become  as  populous  as  Middlesex ;  nor  is  any  cause  whatever  valid 


164  THE    LAMP    OF    MEMORY.  * 

as  a  ground  for  its  destruction.  If  ever  valid,  certainly  not  now, 
when  the  place  both  of  the  past  and  future  is  too  much  usurped  in 
our  minds  by  the  restless  and  discontented  present.  The  very 
quietness  of  nature  is  gradually  withdrawn  from  us  ;  thousands  who 
once  in  their  necessarily  prolonged  travel  were  subjected  to  an 
influence,  from  the  silent  sky  and  slumbering  fields,  more  effectual 
than  known  or  confessed,  now  bear  with  them  even  there  the  cease- 
less fever  of  their  life  ;  and  along  the  iron  veins  that  traverse  the  frame 
of  our  country,  beat  and  flow  the  fiery  pulses  of  its  exertions,  hotter 
and  faster  every  hour.  All  vitality  is  concentrated  through  those 
throbbing  arteries  into  the  central  cities ;  the  country  is  passed  over 
like  a  green  sea  by  narrow  bridges,  and  we  are  thrown  back  in  con- 
tinually closer  crowds  upon  the  city  gates.  The  only  influence 
which  can  in  any  wise  there  take  the  place  of  that  of  the  woods  and 
fields,  is  the  power  of  ancient  Architecture.  Do  not  part  with  it  for 
the  sake  of  the  formal  square,  or  of  the  fenced  and  planted  walk,  nor 
of  the  goodly  street  nor  opened  quay.  The  pride  of  a  city  is  not  in 
these.  Leave  them  to  the  crowd  ;  but  remember  that  there  will 
surely  be  some  within  the  circuit  of  the  disquieted  walls  who  would 
ask  for  some  other  spots  than  these  Avherein  to  walk ;  for  some  other 
forms  to  meet  their  sight  familiarly :  like  him  who  sat  so  often 
where  the  sun  struck  from  the  west,  to  watch  the  lines  of  the  dome 
of  Florence  drawn  on  the  deep  sky,  or  ^Uke  those,  his  Hosts,  who 
could  bear  daily  to  behold,  from  their  palace  chambers,  the  places 
where  their  fothers  lay  at  rest,  at  the  meeting  of  the  dark  streets  of 
Verona. 


CHAPTER    VII. 


THE      LAMP      OF      OBEDIENCE. 


I.  It  has  been  my  endeavor  to  show  in  the  preceding  pages  how 
every  form  of  noble  architecture  is  in  some  sort  the  embodiment  of 
the  PoHty,  Life,  History,  and  Rehgious  Faith  of  nations.  Once  or 
twice  in  doing  this,  I  have  named  a  principle  to  which  I  would  now 
assign  a  definite  place  among  those  which  direct  that  embodiment ; 
the  last  place,  not  only  as  that  to  which  its  own  humility  would 
incline,  but  rather  as  belonging  to  it  in  the  aspect  of  the  crowning 
grace  of  all  the  rest :  that  principle,  I  mean,  to  which  PoUty  owes 
its  stability,  Life  its  happiness,  Faith  its  acceptance,  Creation  its  con- 
tinuance,— Obedience. 

Nor  is  it  the  least  among  the  sources  of  more  serious  satisfaction 
which  I  have  found  in  the  pui-suit  of  a  subject  that  at  fh-st  appeared 
to  bear  but  shghtly  on  the  grave  interests  of  mankind,  that  the  con- 
ditions of  material  perfection  which  it  leads  me  in  conclusion  to 
consider,  furnish  a  strange  proof  how  false  is  the  conception,  how 
frantic  the  pursuit,  of  that  treacherous  phantom  which  men  call 
Liberty  :  most  treacherous,  indeed,  of  all  phantoms  ;  for  the  feeblest 
ray  of  reason  might  surely  show  us,  that  not  only  its  attainment, 
but  its  being,  was  impossible.  There  is  no  such  thing  in  the  uni- 
verse. There  can  never  be.  The  stars  have  it  not ;  the  earth  has  it 
not ;  the  sea  has  it  not ;  and  we  men  have  the  mockery  and  sem- 
blance of  it  only  for  our  heaviest  punishment. 

In  one  of  the  noblest  poems"  for  its  imagery  and  its  music  belong- 
ing to  the  recent  school  of  our  literature,  the  writer  has  sought  in 
the  aspect  of  inanimate  nature  the  expression  of  that  Liberty  which, 
having  once  loved,  he  had  seen  among  men  in  its  true  dyes  of  dark- 
ness. But  with  what  strange  fallacy  of  interpretation  !  since  in  one 
noble  line  of  his  mvocation  he  has  contradicted  the  assumptions  of 
the  rest,  and  acknowledged  the  presence  of  a  subjection,  surely  not 
less  severe  because  eternal  ?    How  could  he  otherwise  ?  since  if  there 


166  THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE. 

be  any  one  principle  more  widely  than  another  confessed  by  every 
utterance,  or  more  sternly  than  another  imprinted  on  every  atom,  of 
the  visible  creation,  that  j)rinci})le  is  not  Lil>ertv,  l>ut  Law. 

II.  The  entluLsiast  would  reply  that  Vjy  Lilx'rtv  he  meant  the  Law 
of  Liberty.  Then  why  use  the  single  and  misunderstood  word  ?  If 
by  liberty  you  mean  chastisement  of  the  passions,  discipline  of  the 
intellect,  subjection  of  the  will ;  if  you  mean  the  fear  of  inflicting,  the 
shame  of  committing,  a  wrong ;  if  you  mean  respect  for  all  who  are 
in  authority,  and  consideration  for  all  who  are  in  dependence ;  vene- 
ration for  the  good,  mercy  to  the  evil,  spnpathy  with  the  weak ;  if 
you  mean  watchfulness  over  all  thoughts,  temperance  in  all  pleasures, 
and  perseverance  in  all  toils ;  if  you  mean,  in  a  word,  that  Ser\-ice 
which  is  defined  in  the  liturgy  of  the  English  church  to  Ixi  perfect 
Freedom,  why  do  you  name  this  by  the  same  word  by  which  the 
luxurious  mean  license,  and  the  reckless  mean  change ;  by  which 
the  rogue  means  rapine,  and  the  fool,  equahty,  by  which  the  proud 
mean  anarchy,  and  the  malignant  mean  violence  ?  Call  it  by  any 
name  rather  than  this,  but  its  best  and  truest  is.  Obedience.  Obe- 
dience is,  indeed,  founded  on  a  kind  of  freedom,  else  it  would  become 
mere  subjugation,  but  that  freedom  is  only  granted  that  obedience 
may  be  more  perfect ;  and  thus,  while  a  measure  of  license  is  neces- 
sary to  exhibit  the  individual  energies  of  things,  the  fairness  and 
pleasantness  and  perfection  of  them  all  consist  in  their  Restraint. 
Compare  a  river  that  has  burst  its  banks  with  one  that  is  bound  by 
them,  and  the  doutls  that  are  scattered  over  the  face  of  the  whole 
heaven  with  those  that  are  marshalled  into  ranks  and  orders  by  its 
winds.  So  that  though  restraint,  utter  and  unrelaxing,  can  never  be 
comely,  this  is  not  because  it  is  in  itself  an  e\il,  but  only  because, 
when  too  great,  it  overpowers  the  nature  of  the  thing  restrained,  and 
so  coimteracts  the  other  laws  of  which  that  nature  is  itself  composed. 
And  the  balance  wherein  consists  the  fairness  of  creation  is  between 
the  laws  of  life  and  being  in  the  things  governed  and  the  laws  of 
general  sway  to  which  they  are  subjected ;  and  the  suspension  or 
infringement  of  either  kind  of  law,  or,  literally,  disorder,  is  equivalent 
to,  and  synon}Tnous  with,  disea.se ;  while  the  increase  of  both  honor 
and  beauty  is  habitually  on  the  side  of  restraint  or  the  action  of  supe- 
rior law)  rather  than  of  character  (or  the  action  of  inherent  law).  The 
noblest  word  in  the  catalogue  of  social  virtue  is  "Loyalty,"  and  the  sweet- 
est which  men  have  learned  in  the  pastures  of  the  wilderness  is  "  Fold." 


THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE.  167 

III.  Nor  is  this  all ;  but  we  may  observe,  that  exactly  in  propor- 
tion to  the  majesty  of  things  in  the  scale  of  being,  is  the  complete- 
ness of  their  obedience  to  the  laws  that  are  set  over  them.  Gravi- 
tation is  less  quietly,  less  instantly  obeyed  by  a  grain  of  dust  than  it 
is  by  the  sun  and  moon ;  and  the  ocean  falls  and  flows  under  influ- 
ences which  the  lake  and  ri\-er  do  not  recognise.  So  also  in  esti- 
mating the  dignity  of  any  action  or  occupation  of  men,  there  is 
perhaps  no  better  test  than  the  question  "  are  its  laws  strait  ?"  For 
their  severity  will  probably  be  commensurate  with  the  greatness  of 
the  numbers  whose  labor  it  concentrates  or  whose  interest  it  concerns. 

This  severity  must  be  singular,  therefore,  in  the  case  of  that  art, 
above  all  others,  whose  productions  are  the  most  viist  and  the  most 
common ;  which  requires  for  its  practice  the  co-operation  of  bodies 
of  men,  and  for  its  perfection  the  perseverance  of  successive  genera- 
tions. And  taking  into  account  also  what  we  have  before  so  often 
observed  of  Architecture,  her  continual  influence  over  the  emotions 
of  daily  life,  and  her  realism,  as  opposed  to  the  two  sister  arts  which 
are  in  comparison  but  the  picturing  of  stories  and  of  dreams,  we 
might  beforehand  expect  that  we  should  find  her  healthy  state  and 
action  dependent  on  iar  more  severe  laws  than  theirs  :  that  the 
license  which  they  extend  to  the  workings  of  individual  mind  would 
be  withdrawn  by  her ;  and  that,  in  assertion  of  the  relations  which 
she  holds  with  all  that  is  universally  important  to  man,  she  would  set 
forth,  by  her  own  majestic  subjection,  some  likeness  of  that  on  which 
man's  social  happiness  and  power  depend.  We  might,  therefore, 
without  the  light  of  experience,  conclude,  that  Architecture  never 
could  flourish  except  when  it  was  subjected  to  a  national  law  as  strict 
and  as  minutely  authoritative  as  the  laws  which  regulate  rehgion, 
policy,  and  social  relations  ;  nay,  even  more  authoritative  than  these, 
because  both  capable  of  more  enforcement,  as  over  more  passive 
matter ;  and  needing  more  enforcement,  as  the  purest  type  not  of 
one  law  nor  of  another,  but  of  the  common  authority  of  all.  But 
in  this  matter  experience  speaks  more  loudly  than  reason.  If  there 
be  any  one  condition  which,  in  watching  the  progress  of  architec- 
ture, we  see  distinct  and  general ;  if,  amidst  the  counter  evidence  of 
success  attending  opposite  accidents  of  character  and  circumstance, 
any  one  conclusion  may  be  constantly  and  indisputably  drawn,  it  is 
this ;  that  the  architecture  of  a  nation  is  gx-eat  only  when  it  is  as 
universal  and  as  established  as  its  language ;  and  when  provincial 


108  THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIEKCE. 

differences  of  style  are  nothing  more  than  so  many  dialects.  Other 
necessities  are  matters  of  doubt :  nations  have  been  ahke  successftd 
in  their  architecture  in  times  of  poverty  and  of  wealth  ;  in  times  of 
war  and  of  peace ;  in  times  of  barbarism  and  of  reIiin'in<Mit ;  under 
governments  the  most  hberal  or  the  most  arbitrary ;  but  this  one 
condition  has  been  constant,  this  one  requirement  clear  in  all  places 
and  at  all  times,  that  the  work  shall  l)e  that  of  a  school,  that  no  indi- 
vidual caprice  shall  dLspease  with,  or  materially  vary,  accepted  types 
and  customary  decorations ;  and  that  from  the  cottage  to  the  palace, 
and  from  the  chapel  to  the  basilica,  and  from  the  garden  fence  to 
the  fortress  wall,  every  member  and  feature  of  the  architecture  of  the 
nation  shall  be  as  commonly  current,  as  frankly  accepted,  as  its  lan- 
guage or  its  coin. 

\\.  A  day  never  passes  without  our  hearing  our  English  archi- 
tects called  upon  to  be  original,  and  to  invent  a  new  style :  about  as 
sensible  and  necessary  an  exhortation  as  to  ask  of  a  man  who  has 
never  had  rags  enough  on  his  back  to  keep  out  cold,  to  invent  a  new 
mode  of  cutting  a  coat.  Give  him  a  whole  coat  fii-st,  and  lot  liim 
concern  himself  about  the  fashion  of  it  afterwards.  We  want  no 
new  style  of  architecture.  Who  wants  a  new  style  of  painting  or 
sculpture  ?  But  we  want  some  style.  It  is  of  mar^-ellously  little 
importance,  if  we  have  a  code  of  laws  and  they  be  good  laws, 
whether  tliey  be  new  or  old,  foreign  or  native,  Roman  or  Saxon,  or 
Nonnan  or  English  laws.  But  it  is  of  considerable  importance  that 
we  should  have  a  code  of  laws  of  one  kind  or  another,  and  that  code 
accepted  and  enforced  from  one  side  of  the  island  to  another,  and 
not  one  law  made  ground  of  judgment  at  York  and  another  in 
Exeter.  And  in  like  manner  it  does  not  matter  one  marble  splinter 
whether  we  have  an  old  or  new  architecture,  but  it  matt<^rs  everj-- 
thing  whether  we  have  an  architecture  tndy  so  c<'\lled  or  not ;  that 
is,  whether  an*  architecture  whose  laws  might  be  taught  at  our 
schools  from  Cornwall  to  Northumberland,  as  we  teach  English 
spelling  and  English  grammar,  or  an  architecture  which  is  to  be 
invented  fresh  every  time  we  build  a  workhouse  or  a  parish  school. 
There  seems  to  me  to  be  a  wonderful  misunderstanding  among  the 
majority  of  architects  at  the  present  day  as  to  the  very  nature  and 
meaning  of  Originality,  and  of  all  wherein  it  consists.  Originality 
in  expression  does  not  depend  on  invention  of  new  words  ;  nor  origi- 
nality in  poetry  on  invention  of  new  measures  ;  nor,  in  painting,  on 


THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE.  169 

invontiou  of  new  colors,  or  new  modes  of  using  them.  The  chords 
of  music,  the  harmonies  of  color,  the  general  principles  of  the 
arrangement  of  sculptural  masses,  have  been  determined  long  ago, 
and,  in  all  probabihty,  cannot  be  added  to  any  more  than  they  can  be 
altered.  Granting  that  they  may  be,  such  additions  or  alterations 
are  much  more  the  work  of  time  and  of  multitudes  than  of  indivi- 
dual inventors.  We  may  have  one  Van  Eyck,  who  will  be  kno^\-ii 
as  the  introducer  of  a  new  style  once  in  ten  centuries,  but  he  him- 
self will  trace  his  invention  to  some  accidental  bye-play  or  pursuit ; 
and  the  use  of  that  invention  will  depend  altogether  on  the  popular 
necessities  or  instincts  of  the  period.  Originality  depends  on  nothing 
of  the  kind.  A  man  who  has  the  gift,  will  take  up  any  style  that  is 
going,  the  style  of  his  day,  and  will  work  in  that,  and  be  great  in 
that,  and  make  ever3'thing  that  he  does  in  it  look  as  fresh  as  if  eveiy 
thought  of  it  had  just  come  down  from  hea\en.  I  do  not  say  that 
he  will  not  take  liberties  with  his  materials,  or  with  his  rules :  I  do 
not  say  that  strange  changes  will  not  sometimes  be  wrought  by  his 
efforts,  or  his  fancies,  in  both.  But  those  changes  will  be  instruc- 
tive, natural,  facile,  though  sometimes  marvellous ;  they  will  never  be 
sought  after  as  thing-s  necessary  to  his  dignity  or  to  his  independence ; 
and  those  libertits  will  be  like  the  liberties  that  a  great  speaker  takes 
with  the  language,  not  a  defiance  of  its  rules  for  the  sake  of  singu- 
larity ;  but  inevitable,  uncalculated,  and  brilliant  consequences  of  an 
effort  to  express  what  the  language,  without  such  infraction,  could 
not.  There  may  be  times  N\hen,  as  I  have  above  described,  the  life 
of  an  art  is  manifested  in  its  changes,  and  in  its  refusal  of  ancient 
limitations  :  so  there  are  in  the  life  of  an  insect ;  and  there  is  great 
interest  in  the  state  of  both  the  art  and  the  insect  at  those  periods 
when,  by  their  natural  progress  and  constitutional  power,  such 
changes  ai"e  about  to  be  wrovight.  But  as  that  would  be  both  an 
uncomfortable  and  foolish  caterpillar  which,  instead  of  being  con- 
tented with  a  caterpiilai-\s  life  and  feeding  on  caterpillar's  food,  was 
always  striving  to  turn  itself  into  a  chrysalis ;  and  as  that  would  be 
an  unhappy  chrysalis  which  should  lie  awake  at  night  and  roll  rest- 
lessly in  its  cocoon,  in  efforts  to  turn  itself  prematurely  into  a  moth ; 
so  will  that  art  be  unhappy  and  unprosperous  which,  instead  of  sup- 
porting itself  on  the  food,  and  contentmg  itself  -n-ith  the  customs 
which  have  been  enough  for  the  support  and  guidance  of  other 
arts  before  it  and  hke  it,  is  struggling  and  fi-etting  under  the  luitural 

8 


170  THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE. 

limitations  of  its  existence,  and  strivinij  to  become  sometliipg  other 
than  it  is.  And  though  it  is  the  nobihty  of  the  highest  creatures  to 
look  forward  to,  and  partly  to  understand  the  changes  which  are 
appointed  fur  them,  jjroparing  for  them  beforehand ;  and  if,  as  is 
usual  with  op}x>inted  changes,  they  ho.  into  a  higher  state,  even 
desiring  them,  and  rejoicing  in  the  hope  of  them,  yet  it  Ls  the 
strength  of  every  creature,  be  it  changeful  or  not,  to  rest  for  the 
time  being,  contented  with  the  conditions  of  its  existence,  and  striving 
only  to  bring  about  the  changes  which  it  desires,  by  fulfilhng  to  the 
uttermost  the  duties  for  which  its  present  state  Is  appointed  and 
continued. 

V.  Neither  originality,  therefore,  nor  change,  good  though  both 
may  be,  and  this  is  commonly  a  most  merciful  and  enthusiastic 
supposition  with  respect  to  either,  are  ever  to  be  sought  in  themselves, 
or  can  ever  be  healthily  obtained  by  any  struggle  or  rebellion  against 
common  laws.  \\'e  w  ant  neitlier  the  one  nor  the  other.  The  forms 
of  architecture  already  known  are  good  enough  for  us,  and  for  far 
better  than  any  of  us :  and  it  will  be  time  enough  to  tliink  of 
changing  them  for  better  when  we  can  \ise  them  as  they  are.  But 
there  are  some  things  which  we  not  only  want,  but  cannot  do  without ; 
and  which  ail  the  struggling  and  raving  in  the  world,  nay  more, 
which  all  the  real  talent  and  resolution  in  England,  will  never  enable 
us  to  do  without :  and  these  .ire  Obedience,  Unity,  Fellowship  and 
Order.  And  all  our  schools  of  design,  and  conmiittees  of  taste ; 
all  our  academies  and  lectures,  and  journalisms,  and  essays ;  all  the 
sacrifices  which  we  are  beginning  to  make,  all  the  truth  which  there 
is  in  our  English  nature,  all  the  power  of  our  English  will,  and  the 
hfe  of  our  English  intellect,  will  in  this  matter  be  as  useless  as  eflforts 
and  emotions  in  a  dream,  \ink-ss  we  ai-e  contented  to  submit  archi- 
tecture and  all  art,  like  other  things,  to  Enghsh  law. 

VI.  I  say  architecture  and  all  art ;  for  I  believe  arcliitecture  must 
be  the  beginning  of  arts,  and  that  the  others  nmst  follow  her  in  their 
time  and  order ;  and  I  think  the  prosperity  of  our  schools  of  painting 
and  sculpture,  in  which  no  one  will  deny  the  life,  though  many  the 
health,  depends  upon  that  of  our  architecture.  I  think  that  all  will 
languish  until  that  tiikes  the  lead,  and  (this  I  do  not  thhJc,  but  I 
proclaim,  as  confidently  as  I  would  assert  the  necessity,  for  the  safety 
of  society,  of  an  understood  and  strongly  administered  legal  govern- 
ment) our  architecture  will  languish,  and  that  in  the  very  dust,  until 


THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE,  l7l 

the  first  principle  of  common  sense  be  manfullj'  obeyed,  and  an 
univei-sal  system  of  form  and  workmanship  be  everywhere  adopted 
and  enforced.  It  may  be  said  that  this  is  impossible.  It  may  be  so — 
I  fear  it  is  so  :  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  possibility  or  impossi- 
bihty  of  it ;  I  simply  know  and  assert  the  necessity  of  it.  If  it  be 
impossible,  English  art  is  impossible.  Give  it  up  at  once.  You  are 
wasting  time,  and  money,  and  energ}'  upon  it,  and  though  you 
exhaust  centuries  and  trea'^uries,  and  break  hearts  for  it,  you  will 
never  raise  it  abo\'e  the  merest  dilettanteism.  Think  not  of  it.  It 
is  a  dangerous  vanity,  a  mere  gulph  in  which  genius  after  genius 
will  be  swallowed  up,  and  it  will  not  close.  And  so  it  will  continue 
to  be,  unless  the  one  bold  and  broad  step  be  taken  at  the  beginning. 
"We  shall  not  manufacture  art  out  of  pottery  and  printed  stuffs  ;  we 
shall  not  reason  out  art  by  our  philosophy  ;  we  shall  not  stumble  upon 
art  by  our  experiments,  nor  create  it  by  our  fancies :  I  do  not  say 
that  we  can  even  build  it  out  of  brick  and  stone ;  but  there  is 
a  chance  for  us  in  these,  and  there  is  none  else  ;  and  that  chance 
rests  on  the  bare  possibility  of  obtaining  the  consent,  both  of  archi- 
tects and  of  the  public,  to  choose  a  style,  and  to  use  it  universally. 

Vn.  How  surely  its  principles  ought  at  first  to  be  hmited,  we 
may  easily  determme  by  the  consideration  of  the  neoossaiy  modes 
of  teaching  any  other  branch  of  general  knowledge.  When  we 
begin  to  teach  children  writing,  we  force  them  to  absolute 
eopyism,  and  require  absolute  accuracy  in  the  formation  of  the  letters  • 
as  they  obtain  command  of  the  received  modes  of  literal  expression, 
we  cannot  prevent  their  foiling  into  such  variations  as  are  consistent 
with  their  feeling,  their  circumstances,  or  their  characters.  So,  when 
a  boy  is  first  taught  to  write  Latin,  an  authority  is  required  of  him 
for  every  expression  he  uses  ;  as  he  becomes  master  of  the  language  he 
may  take  a  Hcense,  and  feel  his  right  to  do  so  without  any  authority, 
and  yet  write  better  Latin  than  when  he  borrowed  every  separate 
expression.  In  the  same  way  our  architects  would  have  to  be  taught 
to  write  the  accepted  style.  We  must  first  determine  what  buildings 
are  to  be  considered  Augustan  in  their  authority  ;  their  modes  of 
constiuction  and  laws  of  proportion  are  to  be  studied  with  the  most 
penetrating  care ;  then  the  different  forms  and  uses  of  their  decora- 
tions are  to  be  classed  and  catalogued,  as  a  German  grammarian 
classes  the  powers  of  prepositions  ;  and  under  this  absolute,  irrefra- 
gable authority,  we  are  to  begin  to  work  ;   admitting  not  so  much 


172  THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE. 

as  an  alteration  in  the  depth  of  a  cavetto,  or  the  breadth  of  a  fillet. 
Then,  when  our  sight  is  once  accustomed  to  the  grammatical  forms 
and  arrangements,  and  our  thoughts  familiar  with  the  expression  of 
them  all  ;  when  we  can  speak  this  dead  language  naturally,  and  apply 
it  to  whatever  idecis  we  have  to  render,  that  is  to  say,  to  every  practical 
purpose  of  life  ;  then,  and  not  till  then,  a  license  might  be  permitted  ; 
and  individual  authority  allowed  to  change  or  to  add  to  the  received 
forms,  always  within  certain  limits  ;  the  decorations,  especially,  might 
be  made  subjects  of  variable  fancy,  and  enriched  with  ideas  either 
original  or  taken  from  other  schools.  And  thus  in  process  of  time 
and  by  a  great  national  movement,  it  might  come  to  pass,  that  a 
new  style  should  arise,  as  language  itself  changes  ;  we  might  perhaps 
come  to  speak  Italian  instead  of  Latin,  or  to  speak  modern  instead 
of  old  Enghsh ;  but  this  would  be  a  matter  c£  entire  indifference, 
and  a  matter,  besides,  which  no  determination  or  desire  could  either 
hasten  or  prevent.  That  alone  which  it  is  in  our  power  to  obtain, 
and  which  it  is  our  duty  to  desire,  is  an  unanimous  style  of  some 
kind,  and  such  comprehension  and  jiractice  of  it  as  would  enable  us 
Uj  ada])t  its  features  to  the  peculiar  character  of  every  several 
building,  large  or  small,  domestic,  civil,  or  ecclesiastical.  I  have  said 
tliat  it  was  immaterial  what  stvle  was  adoj)ted,  so  far  as  regards  the 
room  for  originahty  which  its  development  would  admit :  it  is  not 
so,  however,  when  we  take  into  consideration  the  far  more  important 
questions  of  the  facility  of  adaptation  to  general  purposes,  and  of 
the  sympathy  with  which  this  or  that  style  would  be  popularly 
regarded.  The  choice  of  Classical  or  Clothic,  again  using  lue  Ir/^'^r 
term  in  its  broadest  sense,  may  be  questionable  wlien  it  regards  some 
single  and  considerable  public  building ;  but  I  cannot  conceive  it 
questionable,  for  an  instant,  when  it  regards  modern  uses  in  general : 
I  caimot  conceive  any  architect  insane  enough  to  project  the  vulgari- 
zation of  Greek  architecture.  Neither  can  it  be  rationally  questionable 
"whether  we  should  adopt  early  or  late,  original  or  deri\'ative  Gothic : 
if  the  latter  were  chosen,  it  must  be  either  some  impotent  and  ugly 
degradation,  like  our  own  Tudor,  or  else  a  style  whose  grammatical 
laws  it  would  be  nearly  inqiossible  to  limit  or  arrange,  like  the  French 
Flamboyant.  We  are  equally  precluded  from  ado})ting  styles  essen- 
tially infantine  or  barbarous,  liowever  Herculean  their  infancy,  or 
majestic  their  outlawr}-,  such  as  our  own  Norman,  or  the  Lombard 
Romanesque.     ITie  choice  would  lie  I  think  between  four  styles  : — 


THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE.  l7S 

1.  Tlie  Pisan  Romanesque;  2.  The  early  Gothic  of  the  Western 
Itahan  Republics,  advanced  as  far  and  as  fast  as  our  art  would  enable 
us  to  the  Gothic  of  Giotto ;  3.  The  Venetian  Gothic  in  its  purest 
development ;  4.  The  English  earhest  decorated.  The  most  natural, 
perhaps  the  safest  choice,  would  be  of  the  last,  well  fenced  from 
chance  of  again  stiftening  into  the  perpendicular ;  and  perhaps 
enriched  by  some  minghng  of  decorative  elements  from  the  exquisite 
decorated  Gothic  of  France,  of  which,  in  such  cases,  it  would  be 
needful  to  accept  some  well  known  examples,  as  the  North  door  of 
Rouen  and  the  church  of  St.  Urbain  at  Troyes,  for  final  and  limiting 
authorities  on  the  side  of  decoration. 

Vni.  It  is  almost  impossible  for  us  to  conceive,  in  our  present 
state  of  doubt  and  ignorance,  the  sudden  da'ft-n  of  intelligence  and 
fancy,  the  rapidly  increasing  sense  of  power  and  facihty,  and,  in  its 
■proper  seiise,  of  Freedom,  which  such  wholesome  restraint  would 
instantly  cause  throughout  the  whole  circle  of  the  arts.  Freed  fi-om 
the  agitation  and  embarrassment  of  that  hberty  of  choice  which  is 
the  causfe  of  half  the  chscomforts  of  the  world ;  freed  from  the 
accompanying  necessity  of  studying  all  past,  present,  or  even 
possible  styles ;  and  enabled,  by  concentration  of  individual,  and 
co-operation  of  multitudinous  energy,  to  penetrate  into  the  uttermost 
secrets  of  the  adopted  style,  the  architect  would  find  his  whole 
understanding  enlarged,  his  practical  knowledge  certain  and  ready 
to  hand,  and  his  imagination  playful  and  vigorous,  sis  a  child's  would 
be  within  a  walled  garden,  who  would  sit  down  and  shudder  if  he 
were  left  free  in  a  fenceless  ]>lain.  How  many  and  how  bright  would 
be  the  results  in  every  direction  of  interest,  not  to  the  arts  merely,  but 
to  national  happiness  and  virtue,  it  would  be  as  difficult  to  preconceive 
as  it  would  seem  extravagant  to  state :  but  the  fii-st,  perhaps  the 
least,  of  them  would  be  an  increased  sense  of  fellowship  among 
ourselves,  a  cementing  of  every  patriotic  bond  of  union,  a  proud  and 
happy  recog-nition  of  our  aflFection  for  and  sympathy  with  each  other, 
and  our  wilhngness  in  all  things  to  submit  ourselves  to  every  law 
that  could  ad\ance  the  interest  of  the  community ;  a  bariier,  also, 
the.  best  conceivable,  to  the  unhappy  rivalry  of  the  upper  and  middle 
classes,  in  houses,  furniture,  and  establishments ;  and  even  a  check 
to  much  of  what  is  as  vain  as  it  is  painful  in  the  oppositions  of 
rehgious  parties  respecting  matters  of  ritual.  These,  I  say,  would  be 
the  first  consequences.     Economy  increased  tenfold,  as  it  would  be 


1*74  THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE. 

by  the  simplicity  of  practice ;  domestic  comforts  uninterferocl  with  by 
the  caprice  and  mistakes  of  architects  ignorant  of  tlie  capacities  of 
the  styles  they  use,  and  all  the  symmetry  and  sightliness  of  our 
harmonized  streets  and  public  buildings,  are  things  of  slighter  account 
in  the  catalogue  of  benetits.  But  it  would  be  mere  enthusiasm  to 
endeavor  to  trace  them  farther.  I  have  sutiered  myself  tuo  long  to 
indulge  in  the  speculative  statement  of  requirements  which  perhaps 
"we  have  more  immediate  and  more  serious  work  than  to  supply,  and 
of  feelings  which  it  may  be  only  contingently  in  our  power  to  recover. 
I  should  be  unjustly  thought  unaware  of  tlie  ditiiculty  of  what  1  have 
proposed,  or  of  the  unimportance  of  the  whole  subject  as  compared 
with  many  which  are  brought  home  to  our  interests  and  fixed  upon 
our  consideration  by  the  w  ild  course  of  the  present  century.  But  of 
difficulty  and  of  importance  it  is  for  othei-s  to  judge.  I  have  limited 
myself  to  the  simple  statement  of  what,  if  we  desire  to  have 
architecture,  we  must  primarily  endeavor  to  feel  and  do :  but  then 
it  may  not  be  desirable  for  us  to  have  architecture  at  all.  There  are 
many  who  feel  it  to  be  so  ;  many  who  saciifice  much  to  that  end  ; 
and  I  am  sorry  to  see  their  energies  wasted  and  their  lives  disquieted 
in  vain.  I  have  stated,  therefore,  the  only  ways  in  which  that  end  is 
attainable,  without  venturing  even  to  exjiress  an  opinion  as  to  its  real 
desirableness.  I  have  an  opinion,  and  the  zeal  with  which  I  have 
spoken  may  sometimes  have  betrayed  it,  but  I  hold  to  it  with  no 
confidence.  I  know  too  well  the  undue  importance  which  the  study 
that  every  man  follows  must  assume  in  his  own  eyes,  to  trust  my 
own  impressions  of  the  dignity  of  that  of  Architecture ;  and  yet  I 
think  I  cannot  be  utterly  mistaken  in  regarding  it  as  at  least  useful 
in  the  sense  of  a  National  employment.  I  am  confirmed  in  tliis 
impression  by  what  I  see  jtassing  among  the  states  of  Europe  at  this 
instant.  All  the  horror,  distress,  and  tumult  which  ojipress  the 
foreign  nations,  are  traceable,  among  the  other  secondary  causes 
through  which  God  is  working  out  His  will  upon  them,  to  the  simple 
one  of  their  not  having  enough  to  do.  I  am  not  blind  to  the  distress 
among  their  operatives  ;  nor  do  I  deny  the  nearer  and  visibly  active 
causes  of  tlie  movement :  the  recklessness  of  villany  in  the  leaders  of 
revolt,  the  absence  of  common  moral  princijile  in  the  upper  classes, 
and  of  common  courage  and  honesty  in  the  heads  of  governments. 
But  these  causes  themselves  are  ultimately  traceable  to  a  deeper  and 
simpler  one  :  the  recklessness  of  the  demagogue,  the  immorahty  of 


THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE.  lYS 

the  middle  class,  and  the  effeminacy  and  treachery  of  the  noble,  are 
traceable  in  all  these  nations  to  the  commonest  and  most  fruitful 
cause  of  calaniiity  in  households — idleness.  AVe  think  too  much  in 
our  benevolent  efforts,  more  multiplied  and  more  vain  day  by  dav,  of 
bettering-  men  by  giving  them  advice  and  instruction.  There  are  few 
who  will  take  either :  the  chief  thing  they  need  is  occupation.  I  do 
not  mean  work  in  the  sense  of  bread, — I  mean  work  in  the  sense  of 
mental  interest ;  for  those  who  either  are  placed  above  the  necessity 
of  labor  for  their  bread,  or  who  will  not  work  although  they  should. 
There  is  a  vast  quantity  of  idle  energy  among  European  nations  at 
this  time,  which  ought  to  go  into  handicrafts  ;  there  are  multitudes 
of  idle  semi-gentlemen  who  ought  to  be  shoemakers  and  carpenters ; 
but  since  they  will  not  be  these  so  long  as  they  can  help  it,  the 
business  of  the  philanthropist  is  to  find  them  some  other  employment 
than  disturbing  governments.  It  is  of  no  use  to  tell  them  they  are 
fools,  and  that  they  will  only  make  themselves  miserable  in  the  end 
as  well  as  othere  :  if  they  have  nothing  else  to  do,  they  will  do 
mischief;  and  the  man  who  will  not  woi'k,  and  who  has  no  means 
of  intellectual  pleasure,  is  as  sure  to  become  an  instrument  of  e\al  as 
if  he  had  sold  himself  bodily  to  Satan.  I  have  myself  seen  enough 
of  the  daily  life  of  the  yovmg  educated  men  of  France  and  Italy,  to 
account  for,  as  it  deserves,  the  deepest  national  suffering  and 
degradation  ;  and  though,  for  the  most  part,  our  commerce  and  our 
natural  habits  of  industrj"  preserve  us  from  a  similar  paralysis,  yet  it 
would  be  wise  to  consider  whether  the  forms  of  employment  which 
we  chiefly  adopt  or  promote,  are  as  well  calculated  as  they  might  be 
to  improve  and  elevate  us. 

We  have  just  spent,  for  instance,  a  hundred  and  fifty  millions, 
Avith  which  Ave  have  paid  men  for  digging  ground  fi'om  one  place 
and  depositing  it  in  another.  We  have  formed  a  large  class  of  men, 
the  railway  nav\ies,  especially  reckless,  unmanageable,  and  dangerous. 
We  have  maintained  besides  (let  us  state  the  benefits  as  fairly  as 
possible)  a  number  of  iron  founders  in  an  unhealthy  and  painful 
employment ;  we  have  developed  (this  is  at  least  good)  a  very  large 
amount  of  mechanical  ingenuity  ;  and  we  have,  in  fine,  attained  the 
power  of  going  fast  fi-om  one  place  to  another.  Meantime  we  have 
had  no  mental  interest  or  concern  ourselves  in  the  ojjerations  we  have 
set  on  foot,  but  have  been  left  to  the  usual  vanities  and  cares  of  our 
existence.     Suppose,  on  the  other  hand,  that  we  had  employed  the 


176  THE    LAMP    OF    OBEDIENCE, 

same  sums  in  building  beautiful  houses  and  churches.  "We  should 
have  maintained  the  same  number  of  men,  not  in  dri\Tng  wheel- 
barrows, but  in  a  distinctly  technical,  if  not  intellectual,  employment ; 
and  those  who  were  more  intelligent  among  them  would  have  been 
especially  ha]i])y  in  that  employment,  as  having  room  in  it  for  the 
development  of  their  fancy,  and  being  directed  by  it  to  that  observation 
of  beauty  which,  associated  with  the  pursuit  of  natural  science,  at 
present  forms  the  enjoyment  of  many  of  the  more  intelligent 
manufacturing  operatives.  Of  mechanical  ingenuity,  there  is,  I 
imagine,  at  least  as  much  required  to  build  a  cathedral  as  to  cut  a 
tunnel  or  contrive  a  locomotive  :  we  should,  therefore,  have  developed 
as  much  science,  while  the  artistical  element  of  intellect  would  have 
been  added  to  the  gain.  Meantime  we  should  oui-selves  have  been 
made  happier  and  wiser  by  the  interest  we  should  have  taken  in  the 
work  with  which  we  were  pei-sonally  concerned  ;  and  when  all  was 
done,  instead  of  the  very  doubtful  advantage  of  the  power  of  going 
fast  from  ])lace  to  place,  we  should  ha\e  had  the  certain  advantage 
of  increased  pleasure  in  stopping  at  home. 

IX.  Tliere  are  many  other  less  capacious,  but  more  constant, 
channels  of  expenditure,  quite  as  disjnitable  in  their  beneficial 
tendency ;  and  we  are,  perhaps,  hardly  enough  in  the  habit  of 
inquiring,  with  respect  to  any  jiarticular  form  of  luxury  or  any 
customary  apphance  of  hfe,  whether  the  kind  of  employment  it 
gives  to  the  operative  or  the  dependant  be  as  healthy  and  fitting  an 
employment  as  we  might  otherwise  provide  for  him.  It  is  not 
enough  to  find  men  absolute  subsistence ;  we  should  think  of  the 
manner  of  life  which  our  demands  necessitate  ;  and  endeavor,  as  far 
as  may  be,  to  make  all  our  needs  such  as  piay,  in  the  supply  of 
them,  raise,  as  well  as  feed,  the  poor.  It  is  far  better  to  give  work 
which  is  above  the  men,  than  to  educate  the  men  to  be  above  their 
work.  It  may  be  doubted,  for  instance,  whether  the  habits  of 
luxmy,  which  necessitate  a  large  train  of  men  servants,  be  a  whole- 
some form  of  expentUture ;  and  more,  whether  the  pursuits  which 
have  a  tendency  to  enlarge  the  class  of  the  jockey  and  the  groom 
be  a  ])hilantliropic  form  of  mental  occupation.  So  again,  consider 
the  large  number  of  men  whose  lives  are  em))loyed  by  civilized 
nations  in  cutting  facets  upon  jewels.  There  is  much  dexterity  of 
hand,  patience,  and  ingenuity  thus  bestowed,  which  are  simply 
burned  out  in   the   blaze  of  tlie   tiara,  without,  so   far   as   I  see, 


THE    LAifP    OF    OBEDIENCE.  177 

bestowing  any  pleasure  upon  those  who  wear  or  who  behold,  at  all 
compensatory  for  the  loss  of  life  and  mental  power  which  are 
involved  in  the  emjiloyment  of  the  workman.  He  would  be  far 
more  healthily  and  happily  sustained  by  being  set  to  carve  stone  ; 
certain  quaUties  of  his  mind,  for  which  there  is  no  room  in  his 
present  occupation,  would  develope  themselves  in  the  nobler  ;  and  I 
beheve  that  most  women  -tt^^uld,  in  the  end,  prefer  the  pleasure  of 
hanng  built  a  church,  or  contributed  to  the  adornment  of  a 
cathedral,  to  the  piide  of  bearing  a  certain  quantity  of  adamant  on 
their  foreheads. 

X.  I  could  piu-sue  this  subject  willingly,  but  I  have  some  strange 
notions  about  it  which  it  is  perhaps  wiser  not  loosely  to  set  down. 
I  content  myself  with  finally  reasserting,  what  has  been  throughout 
the  burden  of  the  preceding  pages,  that  whatever  rank,  or  whatever 
importance,  may  be  attributed  or  attached  to  their  immediate 
subject,  there  is  at  least  some  value  in  the  analogies  with  which  its 
pursuit  has  presented  us,  and  some  instruction  in  the  fi-equent 
reference  of  its  commonest  necessities  to  the  mighty  laws,  in  the 
sense  and  scope  of  which  all  men  ai-e  Builders,  whom  every  hour 
sees  laying  the  stubble  or  the  stone. 

I  have  paused,  not  once  nor  twice,  as  I  wrote,  and  often  have 
checked  the  course  of  what  might  otherwise  have  been  importimate 
persuasion,  as  the  thought  has  crossed  me,  how  soon  all  Architecture 
may  be  vain,  except  that  which  is  not  made  with  hands.  There  is 
something  ominous  in  the  light  which  has  enabled  us  to  look  back 
with  disdain  upon  the  ages  among  whose  lovely  vestiges  we  have 
been  wandering.  I  could  smile  when  I  hear  the  hopefiil  exultation 
of  many,  at  the  new  reach  of  worldly  science,  and  vigor  of  worldly 
effort;  as  if  we  were  again  at  the  beginning  of  days.  There  is 
thunder  on  the  horizon  as  well  as  dawn.  The  sun  was  risen  upon 
the  earth  when  Lot  entered  into  Zoar. 


8* 


NOTES. 


1.  Page  12.  "  With  the  idolatrous  Egypiian.^^ — The  probability  is 
indeed  slight  in  comparison,  but  it  is  a  probability  nevertheless,  and 
one  Avhich  is  daily  on  the  increase.  I  trust  that  I  may  not  be  thought 
to  underrate  the  danger  of  such  sympathy,  though  I  speak  lightly  of  the 
chance  of  it.  I  have  confidence  in  the  central  religious  body  of  the 
English  and  Scottish  people,  as  being  not  only  untainted  with  Roman- 
ism, but  imnioveably  adverse  to  it :  and,  however  strangely  and  swiftly 
the  heresy  of  the  Protestant  and  victory  of  the  Papist  may  seem  to  be 
extending  among  us,  I  feel  assured  that  there  are  barriers  in  the  living 
faith  of  this  nation  which  neither  can  overpass.  Yet  this  confidence  is 
only  in  the  ultimate  faithfulness  of  a  few,  not  in  the  security  of  the 
nation  from  the  sin  and  the  punishment  of  partial  apostasy.  Both 
have,  indeed,  in  some  sort,  been  committed  and  suffered  already ;  and, 
in  expressing  my  belief  of  the  close  connection  of  the  distress  and 
burden  which  the  mass  of  the  people  at  present  sustain,  with  the 
encouragement  which,  in  various  directions,  has  been  given  to  the 
Papist,  do  not  let  me  be  called  superstitious  or  irrational.  No  man 
was  ever  more  inclined  than  I,  both  by  natural  disposition  and  by 
many  ties  of  early  association,  to  a  sympathy  with  the  principles  and 
forms  of  the  Romanist  Church  ;  and  there  is  much  in  its  discipline 
which  conscientiously,  as  well  as  sympathetically,  I  could  love  and 
advocate.  But,  in  confessing  this  strength  of  affectionate  prejudice, 
surely  I  vindicate  more  respect  for  my  firmly  expressed  belief,  that  the 
entire  doctrine  and  system  of  that  Church  is  in  the  fullest  sense  anti- 
Christian  ;  that  its  lying  and  idolatrous  Power  is  the  darkest  plague 
that  ever  held  commission  to  hurt  the  Earth ;  that  all  those  yearnings 
for  unity  and  fellowship,  and  common  obedience,  which  have  been  the 


1 80  K0TE8. 

root  of  our  late  heresies,  arc  as  false  in  their  grounds  as  fatal  in  their 
termination  ;  that  we  never  can  have  the  remotest  fellowship  with  the 
utterers  of  that  fearful  Falsehood,  and  live  ;  that  we  iiavc  nothing  to 
look  to  from  them  but  treacherous  iiostility  ;  and  that,  exactly  in  pro- 
portion to  the  sternness  of  our  separation  from  tlicm,  will  be  not  only 
the  spiritual  but  the  temporal  blessings  granted  by  God  to  this  country. 
How  close  has  been  the  correspondence  hitherto  between  the  degree 
of  resistance  to  Romanism  marked  in  our  national  acts,  and  the  lionor 
with  which  those  acts  have  been  crowned,  has  been  suthcientiy  proved 
in  a  short  essay  by  a  writer  whose  investigations  into  the  influence  of 
Religion  upon  the  fate  of  Nations  have  been  singularly  earnest  and 
successful — a  writer  with  whom  I  faithfully  and  firmly  believe  that 
England  will  never  be  prosperous  ag.iin,  and  that  the  honor  of  her 
arms  will  be  tarnished,  and  her  commerce  blighted,  and  her  national 
character  degraded,  until  the  Romanist  is  expelled  from  the  pl;:ce  wiiich 
has  impiously  been  conceded  to  him  among  her  legislators.  "  What- 
ever  be  the  lot  of  those  to  whom  error  is  an  inheritance,  woe  be  to  the 
man  and  the  people  to  whom  it  is  an  adoption.  If  England,  free  above 
all  other  nations,  sustained  amidst  the  trials  which  have  covered  Europe, 
before  her  eyes,  with  burning  and  slaughter,  and  enlightened  by  the 
fullest  knowledge  of  divine  truth,  shall  refuse  fidelity  to  the  compact 
by  which  those  matchless  privileges  have  been  given,  her  condemna- 
tion will  not  linger.  She  has  already  made  one  step  full  of  danger. 
She  has  committed  the  capital  error  of  mistaking  that  for  a  purely 
political  question  which  was  a  purely  religious  one.  Her  foot  already 
hangs  over  the  edge  of  the  precipice.  It  must  be  retracted,  or  the 
empire  is  but  a  name.  In  the  clouds  and  darkness  which  seem  to  be 
deepening  on  all  human  policy — in  the  gathering  tumults  of  Europe, 
and  the  feverish  discontents  at  home — it  may  be  even  difficult  to 
discern  where  the  power  yet  lives  to  erect  the  fallen  majesty  of  the 
■  constitution  once  more.  But  there  are  mighty  means  in  sincerity  ;  and 
if  no  miracle  was  ever  wrought  for  the  faithless  and  despairing,  ihe 
country  that  will  help  itself  will  never  be  left  destitute  of  the  help  of 
Heaven"  (Ilisitorical  Essays,  by  tiie  Rev.  Dr.  Croly,  1842).  The  first 
of  these  essays,  "  England  the  Fortress  of  Christianity,"  I  most 
earnestly  recommend  to  the  meditation  of  those  who  doubt  tliaf  a 
special  punisiiment  is  inflicted  by  the  Deity  upon  all  national  crime, 
.and  perhaps,  of  all   such  crime,  most  instantly  upon  the  betrayal,  on 


NOTES.  Ml 

the  part  of  England,  of  the  truth  and  faith  with  which  she  has  been 
entrusted. 

2.  p.  16.  *'  Not  the  gift,  but  the  giving." — Much  attention  has  lately 
been  directed  to  the  subject  of  religious  art,  and  we  are  now  in  pos- 
session of  all  kinds  of  interpretations  and  classifications  of  it,  and  of 
the  leading  facts  of  its  history.  But  the  greatest  question  of  all  con- 
nected with  it  remains  entirely  unanswered,  What  good  did  it  do  to 
real  religion?  There  is  no  subject  into  which  I  should  so  much  rejoice 
to  see  a  serious  and  conscientious  inquiry  instituted  as  this;  an  inquiry, 
neither  undertaken  in  artistical  enthusiasm  nor  in  monkish  sympathy, 
but  dogged,  merciless,  and  fearless.  I  love  the  religious  art  of  Italy  as 
well  as  most  men,  but  there  is  a  wide  diiference  between  loving  it 
as  a  manifestation  of  individual  feeling,  and  looking  to  it  as  an 
instrument  of  popular  benefit.  I  have  not  knowledge  enough  to 
form  even  the  shadow  of  an  opinion  on  this  latter  point,  and  I  should 
be  most  grateful  to  any  one  who  would  put  it  in  my  power  to  do  so. 
There  are,  as  it  seems  to  me, three  distinct  questions  to  be  considered: 
the  first,  What  has  been  the  effect  of  external  splendor  on  the  genuine- 
ness and  earnestness  of  Christian  worship?  the  second,  What  the  use 
of  pictorial  or  sculptural  representation  in  the  communication  of 
Christian  historical  knowledge,  or  excitement  of  affectionate  imagina- 
tion ?  the  third,  What  the  influence  of  the  practice  of  religious  art  on 
the  life  of  the  artist? 

In  answering  these  inquiries,  we  should  have  to  consider  separately 
every  collateral  influence  and  circumstance  ;  and,  by  a  most  subtle 
analysis,  to  eliminate  the  real  effect  of  art  from  the  effects  of  the 
abuses  with  which  it  was  associated.  This  could  be  done  only  by  a 
Christian;  not  a  man  who  would  fall  in  love  with  a  sweet  color  or 
sweet  expression,  but  who  would  look  for  true  faith  and  consistent  life 
as  the  object  of  all.  It  never  has  been  done  yet,  and  the  question 
remains  a  subject  of  vain  and  endless  contention  between  parties  of 
opposite  prejudices  and  temperaments. 

3.  p.  17.  "  To  the  concealment  of  what  is  really  good  or  great." — I 
have  often  been  surprised  at  the  supposition  that  Romanism,  in  its 
present  condition,  could  either  patronise  art,  or  profit  by  it.  The  noble 
painted  windows  of  St.  Maclou  at  Rouen,  and  many  other  churches  in 


182  NOTES. 

France,  are  entirely  blocked  up  behind  the  altars  by  the  erection  of 
huge  gilded  wooden  sunbeams,  with  interspersed  cherubs. 

4.  p.  23.  "  With  different  pattern  of  traceries  in  each." — I  have 
certainly  not  examined  the  seven  hundred  and  four  traceries  (four  to 
each  niche)  so  as  to  be  sure  that  none  are  alike ;  but  they  have  the 
aspect  of  continual  variation,  and  even  the  roses  of  the  pendants  of  the 
small  groined  niche  roofs  are  all  of  different  patterns. 

6.  p.  32.  "  Its  flamboyant  traceries  of  the  last  and  most  degraded 
forms." — They  are  noticed  by  Mr.  VVhewell  as  forming  the  figure  of 
the  fleur-de-lis,  always  a  mark,  when  in  tracery  bars,  of  the  most 
debased  flamboyant.  It  occurs  in  the  central  tower  of  Bayeux,  very 
richly  in  the  buttresses  of  St.  Gervais  at  Falaise,  and  in  the  small 
niches  of  some  of  the.  domestic  buildings  at  Rouen.  Nor  is  it  only  the 
tower  of  St.  Ouen  which  is  overrated.  Its  nave  is  a  base  imitation,  in 
the  flamboyant  period,  of  an  early  Gothic  arrangement ;  the  niches  on 
its  piers  are  barbarisms;  there  is  a  huge  square  shaft  run  through  the 
ceiling  of  the  aisles  to  support  the  nave  piers,  the  ugliest  excrescence  I 
ever  saw  on  a  Gothic  building ;  the  traceries  of  the  nave  are  the  most 
insipid  and  faded  flamboyant ;  those  of  the  transept  clerestory  present 
a  singularly  distorted  condition  of  perpendicular;  even  the  elaborate 
door  of  the  south  transept  is,  for  its  fine  period,  extravagant  and  almost 
grotesque  in  its  foliation  and  pendants.  There  is  nothing  truly  fine  in 
the  church  but  the  choir,  the  light  triforium,  and  tall  clerestory,  the 
circle  of  Eastern  chapels,  the  details  of  sculpture,  and  the  general 
lightness  of  proportion ;  these  merits  being  seen  to  the  utmost 
advantage  by  the  freedom  of  the  body  of  the  church  from  all  in- 
cumbrance. 

6.  p.  33.     Compare  Iliad  E.  1.  219.  with  Odyssey  Q.  1.  5—10. 

7.  p.  34.  "  Does  not  admit  iron  as  a  constructive  material." — Except 
in  Chaucer's  noble  temple  of  Mars. 

"  And  dounward  from  an  hill  under  a  bent, 
Ther  stood  the  temple  of  Mars,  armipotent. 
Wrought  all  of  burned  stele,  of  which  th'  entree 
Was  longe  and  streite,  and  gastly  for  to  see. 


NOTES.  188 

And  thereout  came  a  rage  and  swiche  a  vise. 
That  it  made  all  the  gates  for  to  rise. 
The  northern  light  in  at  the  dore  shone, 
For  window  on  the  wall  ne  was  ther  none, 
Thurgh  which  men  mighten  any  light  disceme. 
The  dore  was  all  of  athamant  eterne, 
Yclenched  overthwart  and  endelong 
With  yren  tough,  and  for  to  make  it  strong, 
Every  piler  the  temple  to  sustene 
Was  tonne-gret,  of  yren  bright  and  shene." 

The  Knighie's  Tale. 

There  is,  by  the  bye,  an  exquisite  piece  of  architectural  color  just 
before : 

"  And  northward,  in  a  turret  on  the  wall 
Of  alabaster  white,  and  red  corall. 
An  oratorie  riche  for  to  see, 
In  worship  of  Diane  of  Chastitee." 

8.  p.  34.  "  The  Builders  of  Salisbury." — "  This  way  of  tying  walls 
together  with  iron,  instead  of  making  them  of  that  substance  and  form, 
that  they  shall  naturally  poise  themselves  upon  their  buttment,  is 
against  the  rules  of  good  architecture,  not  only  because  iron  is  cor- 
ruptible by  rust,  but  because  it  is  fallacious,  having  unequal  veins  in 
the  metal,  some  places  of  the  same  bar  being  three  times  stronger  than 
others,  and  yet  all  sound  to  appearance."  Survey  of  Salisbury  Cathe- 
dral in  1668,  by  Sir  C.  Wren.  For  my  own  part,  I  think  it  better 
work  to  bind  a  tower  with  iron,  than  to  support  a  false  dome  by  a  brick 
pyramid. 

9.  p.  48.  Plate  3.  In  this  plate,  figures  4,  5,  and  6,  are  glazed  win- 
dows, but  fig.  2.  is  the  open  light  of  a  belfry  tower,  and  figures  1,  and 
3,  are  in  triforia,  the  latter  also  occurring  filled,  on  the  central  tower 
of  Coutances. 

10.  p.  79.  "  Ornaments  of  the  transept  towers  of  Rouen." — The  reader 
cannot  but  observe  the  agreeableness,  as  a  mere  arrangement  of  shade, 
which  especially  belongs  to  the  "  sacred  trefoil."  I  do  not  think  that 
the  element  of  foliation  has  been  enough  insisted  upon  in  its  intimate 


184  NOTES. 

relations  with  the  power  of  Gothic  work.  If  I  were  asked  what  was 
the  most  distinctive  feature  of  its  perfect  style,  I  should  say  the 
Trefoil.  It  is  the  very  soul  of  it ;  and  I  think  the  loveliest  Gothic  is 
always  formed  upon  simple  and  bold  tracings  of  it,  taking  place 
between  the  blank  lancet  arch  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  overcharged 
cinquefoiled  arch  on  the  other. 

11.  p.  79.  ^'  And  levelled  cusps  of  stone." — The  plate  represents  one 
of  the  lateral  windows  of  the  third  story  of  the  Palazzo  Foscari.  It 
was  drawn  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  Grand  Canal,  and  the  lines  of 
its  traceries  are  therefore  given  as  they  appear  in  somewhat  distant 
effect.  It  shows  only  segments  of  the  characteristic  quatrefoils  of  the 
centra!  windows.  I  found  by  measurement  their  construction  exceed- 
ingly simple.  Four  circles  are  drawn  in  contact  within  the  large 
circle.  Two  tangential  lines  are  then  drawn  to  each  opposite  pair, 
enclosing  the  four  circles  in  a  hollow  cross.  An  inner  circle  struck 
through  the  intersections  of  the  circles  by  the  tangents,  truncates  the 
cusps. 

12.  p.  107.  "  Into  vertical  equal  parts." — Not  absolutely  so.  There 
are  variations  partly  accidental  (or  at  least  compelled  by  the  architect's 
effort  to  recover  the  vertical),  between  the  sides  of  the  stories  ;  and  the 
upper  and  lower  story  are  taller  than  the  rest.  There  is,  however,  an 
apparent  equality  between  five  out  of  the  eight  tiers. 

13.  p.  114.  " -Veier  paint  a  column  uilh  vertical  lines." — It  should 
be  observed,  however,  that  any  pattern  which  gives  opponent  lines  in 
its  parts,  may  be  arranged  on  lines  parallel  with  the  main  structure. 
Thus,  rows  of  diamonds,  like  spots  on  a  snake's  back,  or  the  bones  on 
a  sturgeon,  are  exquisitely  applied  both  to  vertical  and  spiral  columns. 
The  loveliest  instances  of  such  decoration  that  I  know,  are  the  pillars 
of  the  cloister  of  St,  John  Lateran,  lately  illustrated  by  Mr.  Digby 
Wyatt,  in  his  most  valuable  and  faithful  work  on  antique  mosaic. 

14.  p.  119.  On  the  cover  of  this  volume  the  reader  will  find  some 
figure  outlines  of  the  same  period  and  character,  from  the  floor  of  San 
Miniato  at  Florence.  I  have  to  thank  its  designer,  Mr.  W.  Harry 
Rogers,  for  his  intelligent  arrangement  of  them,  and  graceful  adapta- 
tion of  the  connecting  arabesque. 


NOTES.  1 85 

15.  p.  147.  "  The  flowers  lost  their  light,  the  river  its  music." — Yet 
not  all  their  light,  nor  all  their  music.  Compare  Modern  Painters,  vol. 
ii.  sec.  1.  chap.  iv.  ]  8. 

16.  p.  159.  "  By  the  artists  of  the  time  of  Pericles." — This  subordina- 
tion was  first  remarked  to  me  by  a  friend,  whose  profound  knowledge 
of  Greek  art  will  not,  I  trust,  be  reserved  always  for  the  advantage  of 
his  friends  only  :  Mr.  C.  Newton,  of  the  British  Museum. 

17.  p.  165.  " /n  one  of  the  noblest  poems." — Coleridge's  Ode  to 
France  : — 

"  Ye  Clouds  !  that  far  above  me  float  and  pause, 

Whose  pathless  march  no  mortal  may  control ! 

Ye  Ocean-Waves !  that  vvheresoe'er  ye  roll. 
Yield  homage  only  to  eternal  laws ! 
Ye  Woods !  that  listen  to  the  night-birds  singing, 

Midway  the  smooth  and  perilous  slope  reclined. 
Save  when  your  own  imperious  branches  swinging. 

Have  made  a  solemn  music  of  the  wind  ! 
Where,  like  a  man  beloved  of  God, 
Through  glooms,  which  never  woodman  trod. 

How  oft,  pursuing  fancies  holy. 
My  moonlight  way  o'er  flowering  weeds  I  wound. 

Inspired,  beyond  the  guess  of  lolly. 
By  each  rude  shape  and  wild  unconquerable  sound ! 
O  ye  loud  Waves !  and  O  ye  Forests  high  ! 

And  O  ye  Clouds  dial  far  above  me  soared  ! 
Thou  rising  Sun  !  thou  blue  rejoicing  Sky  ! 

Yea,  everything  that  is  and  will  be  free  ! 

Bear  witness  for  me,  wheresoe'er  ye  be. 

With  what  deep  worship  I  have  still  adored 
The  spirit  of  divinest  Liberty." 

Noble  verse,  but  erring  thought :  contrast  George  Herbert : — 

"  Slight  those  who  say  amidst  their  sickly  healths. 
Thou  livest  by  rule.     What  doth  not  so  but  man  1 
Houses  are  built  by  rule  and  Commonwealths. 


186 


Entice  the  trusty  sun,  if  that  you  can, 
From  his  ecliptic  line  ;  beckon  the  sky. 
Who  lives  by  rule  then,  keeps  good  company. 

'  Who  keeps  no  guard  upon  himself  is  slack, 
And  rots  to  nothing  at  the  next  great  thaw  ; 
Man  is  a  shop  of  rules:  a  well-truss'd  pack 
Whose  every  parcel  underwrites  a  law. 
Lose  not  thyself,  nor  give  thy  humors  way  ; 
God  gave  them  to  thee  under  lock  and  key." 


THE    KND. 


John  Wiley's  List  of  Late  Puhlications. 


"  Cellini  was  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  men  in  an  extraordinary  age  ;  his  life  written 
by  himself,  is  more  amusing  than  any  novel  I  l<now." — H.  IValpole. 

Chambers — Cyclopaedia  of  English  Literature. 

A  History,  Critical  and  Biographical,  of  British  Authors,  from  the 
earliest  to  the  present  Times.  Edited  by  Robert  Chambers.  Com- 
plete in  2  vols,  royal  8vo.  ^o,  bound  in  full  neat  cloth. 


Information  for  the  People. 


Conducted  by  William  and  Robert  Chambers,  Editors  of  Chambers's 
Edinburgh  Journal,  Educational  Course,  &c.  New  and  improved 
Edition,  in  2  vols,  royal  Svo.  $5,  full  cloth. 

"  A  comprehensive  poor  man's  CycIopaediH.  and  perhaps  the  most  striking  example  yet 
given  of  the  powers  of  the  press  in  diffusiui;  uselul  linowledge." 

Entertaining 


Miscellany    of   Useful    and 

Tracts. 

20  vols.  12mo.  bound  in  10,  $7  50,  full  neat  cloth. 


Cheever,  Rev.  George  B. 


WANDERINGS  OF  A  PILGRIM  IN  THE  ALPS.  Part  I.— In  the 
Shadow  of  Mont  Blanc.  Part  II. — In  the  Shadow  of  the  Jungfrau 
Alps.     By  Geo.  B.  Cheever,  D.D.     In  1  vol.  cloth,  $1. 

"Highly  picturesque  in  its  details,  and  written  with  a  religious  eloquence  which  becomes 
the  profession  of  the  writer." — Simms'  Jilag. 

"  There  is  an  exuberance  of  fancy,  a  peculi'ir  glow,  in  the  language  of  Dr.  Cheever, 
which  gives  a  charm  to  his  written  producli  jns  possessed  by  few." — Com.  Jidv. 

THE  PILGRIM  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  MONT  BLANC. 


In  1  vol.  12mo.  cloth,  50  cts. 

THE  PILGRIM  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  JUNGFRAU. 

In  1  vol.  12mo.  cloth,  50  cts. 

LECTURES  ON  THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS,  and  on  the 

Life  and  Times  of  John  Bunyan.  A  new  edition  in  r2mo.  size,  con- 
taining over  500  pages.  Uniform  with  the  "  Pilgrim  in  the  Alps," 
cloth.  $1  25. 

"  \Ve  know  of  nothing  in  American  literature  more  likely  to  be  interesting  and  useful 
than  these  lectures.  The  beauty  and  force  of  their  imagery,  the  poetic  brilliancy  of  their 
descriptions,  the  correctness  of  their  sentiments,  and  the  excellent  spirit  whi'  h  pervades 
them,  must  make  their  perusal  a  feast  to  all  of  the  religious  community." — Tribune. 

■ THE   JOURNAL    OF  THE  PILGRIMS    AT   PLYMOUTH, 

in  1620.  Reprinted  from  the  original  volume.  With  historical  and 
local  illustrations  of  Providences,  Principles,  and  Persons.  By  Rev. 
Geo.  B  Cheever,  D  D.  In  1  vol.  12mo.  uniform  with  the  above,  cloth, 
$i  ;  cloth  gilt,  §1  50. 

"This  reprint  is  really  a  treat  to  those  who  love  the  memory  of  their  forefatners 

The  illustrttions  by  Dr.  Cheever,  are  exqui.-^itely  beautiful  in  conception  and  execution." 
"The  book  is  full  of  striking  passages  which  we  should  love  to  copy." 


Greenliow,  Robt. — Oregon  Territory  and  California. 

Memoir,  Historicul,  Political,  and  Geographical,  on  the  Northwest 
Coast  of  North  America,  California,  and  the  Adjacent  Territory. 
Published  by  order  of  Congress.  Royal  Svo.  with  map  and  geographi- 
cal views,  $1  50,  cloth. 

Gully. — Water-Cure  in  Chronic  Diseases. 

An   Exposition  of  the  Causes,  Progress,  and  Termination  of  various 
Chronic  Diseases  of  The  Digestive  Organs,  Lungs,  Nerves,  Limbs,  and 
Skin;  and  of  their  Treatment  by  Water,  and  other  Hvgienic  Means. 
Plate,  12mo.  $1  25,  cloth. 
"When  such  a  man  as  the  author  of  this  treatise,  with  all  the  advantages  of  education 

and  science,  affirms  ils  ertic;icy  in  cases  of  disease  the  most  unmanageable  under  the  ordi- 

iiar)'  treatment,  we  think  our  medical  men  should  at  least  investigate  it  thuroughly." — 

Pretbyterian. 
"The  exposition  is  so  reasonable,  so  lucid,  so  learned,  without  being  elaborate  and 

puzzling." — Morning-   Telegraph. 

Halm's  Hebrew  Bible,  sen  Biblia  Hebraica. 

Secundum  cditiones  Jos.  Athiie,  Joannis  Leusden,  Jo.  Simonis,  alio- 
rurnque,  imprimis  Everardi  Van  Der  Hooght,  D.  Henrici  Opitii,et 
Wolfii  Heidenheiin,  cum  additionibus  Clavi(]ue  Masoretica  et  Rabbi- 
nica,  AuGUsTi  Hahx.  Nunc  denuo  recognita  et  emendata  ab  Isaaco 
Leeser,  V.D.M.  et  Josepho  Jaquett,  V.D  M. 
*»*  A  Stereotype  Edition  of  the  above,  executed  with  prreat  care,  being  an  exact  reprint 

of  the  Leipsic  Edition  in  octavo,  and  half  bound  in  the  same  style,  is  now  olfered  to  the 

American  public  at  the  low  price  of  $3. 

••The  learned  editors  of  this   first  American  Edition  of  the  Hebrew  Scriptures,  express 

with  great  confidence  their  belief  that  they  h-ive  secured  a  more  strictly  accurate  ten  thaa 

can  be  found  in  any  previous  edition,  either  Eogiisb  or  German." — Independent. 

Hall,  Jndge. 

THE  WILDERNESS  AND  THE  WAR-PATH.  By  the  Author  of 
"  Legends  of  the  West,"  "  Border  Tales,"  "  Sketches  of  the  West," 
&c.     l-3mo.  50  cts.  cloth. 

"  One  of  the  few  volumes  of  tndian  Stories  that  we  have  wished  longer." — Mirror. 

"  A  graphic  and  truthful  picture  of  Life  In  the  WeaL"— JV.  T.  Evangelist. 


Hamilton  Papers. 


>  The  Official  and  other  Papers  of  the  Major-General  Alexander  Hamil- 

\  ton  ;  compiled  from  the  Originals  in  the  possession  of  Mrs.  Hamilton. 

\  Vol.  1  (all  published),  Svo.  $2  50,  cloth. 

\  Hawthorne. 

\  JOURNAL  OF  AN  AFRICAN  CRUISER  ;  Comprising  Sketches  of 

^  the  Canaries,  the  Cape-de-Verds,  Liberia,  Madeira,  Sierra-Leone,  and  < 

J  other  places  of  interest  on  the  West  Coast  of  Africa,     limo.  50  cents,  -j 

<  cloth.  < 


24  John  Wiley's  List  of  Late  Publications. 

Tapper,  M.  Farquhar. — Continued. 

PROBABILITIES  :  AN  AID  TO  FAITH.     12mo.  50  cents,  cloth. 

"It  is  but  a  small  work;  but  in  its  few  pages  there  is  stated  iriuch  truth — much   for 
\honghl."— Hunt's  Mag. 

"  There  is  much  sound  Christian  Philosophy  in  this  book." — Commercial. 


PROVERBIAL  PHILOSOPHY.     Complete,  paper,  50  cents. 

The  same,  red  cloth,  75  cents. 

The  same,  with  "  A  Thousand  Lines,"  cloth,  87^  cents. 

The  same,  complete,  cloth,  extra  gilt,  $1  25. 

The  same,  morocco,  $^2. 

The  same,  fancy,  with  portrait,  $1  50. 

The  same,  with  "  A  Thousand  Lines,"  $1  37. 

The  same,  with  portrait,  $'1  63. 


The  same,  Mini.vture  Edition,  36mo.  cloth,  neat,  50  cents. 

The  same,  gilt  extra,  75  cents. 

The  same,  morocco,  $1  50. 

"  It  is  full  of  glorious  thoughts,  each  one  of  which  might  be  expanded  into  a  treatise." 

"Full   of  gems,  rich  in   thought,  and  admirable  in    its  religious   tone  and   beautiful 
language." 

"  It  contains  more  instruction,  more  deep  philosophy  in  a  small  space  than  any  similar 
work  extant." 

"The  title  expresses  well  the  character  of  the  matter,  which  is  the  Philosophy  of  human 
life,  couched  in  the  brief,  terse,  pointed  form  of  the  proverb." 

THE  TWINS,   A  DOMESTIC  NOVEL;  AND  HEART,  A 

SOCIAL  NOVEL.     In  one  volume,  12mo.  50  cents,  cloth. 
"It  is  the  fervor  of  style — the  freshness  of  illu-!tration — the  depth  of  true  feeling,  present 
in  every  pa^je,  that  give  these  books  a  charm  peculiar  to  themselves." 

POETICAL  WORKS,  including  Proverbial  Philosophy,  Hac- 


tenus,  A  Thousand  Lines,  and  other  later  Poems.     Complete  in  one 
vol.  12mo. 

Turner's  Companion  to  the  Book  of  Genesis. 

By  S.  H.  Turner,  D.D.     1  vol.  Svo.  $1,  cloth. 

Vestiges  of  Creation,  with  a  Sequel. 

Vestiges  of  the  Natural  History  of  Creation.  4th  edition  from  the  3d 
London  edition,  greatly  amended,  with  an  article  from  the  North  Bri- 
tish Review,  and  a  Sequel ;  or.  Explanations  by  the  Author.  In  1 
vol.  IQmn.,  S'l,  cloth. 
"  We  h  tve  seldom,  if  ever,  read  a  book  of  a  character  so  purely  scientific,  which  pos- 
•esscs  such  powerful  interest  and  charm  throughout  its  pages." — Tribune. 

"  The  object  of  the  work  is  to  furnish  a  history  of  creation  by  the  light  of  the  natural  sci- 
ences." 
"Embraces a  wide  range  of  inquiry,  from  worlds?  beyond  the  xnsible,  starry  firmament, 
V  ID  the  minutest  structures  of  man  and  anim  ils." — Medico.  Chir.  Rev. 

"  Has  already  elicited  criticism  enoush  to  fill  the  shelves  of  an  ordinary  bookcase." 
\ 


22  John  Wiley^s  List  of  Lat-e  Publications. 

Shew,  Mrs. — Waler-Cure  for  Ladies. 

A  popular  work  on  the  Health,  Dit't,  &c.  of  Females  and  Children; 
with  a  full  Account  of  the  processes  of  the  Wafer-Cure.  Revised  by 
Dr.  J.  Shew.     Second  thousand,  12ino.  50  cts.  cloth. 

Siiiinis,  W.  G.— Views  and  Reviews 

In  American  Literature,  History,  and  Fiction,  by  the  .Author  of  '•  The 
Yemasee,"   "  Life  of  Marion."     First  and   Second  Series,  in  one  vol. 
r2mo.  $1  12,  cloth. 
"  Mr.  Siiniiix  is  a  very  spiritod  writer,  nnd  tnkes  hold  of  a  suhject  with  vigor;  hp  defends 
his  country  with  ubility  anil  zeul,  emhellislies  hia  style  with  ()ra:iinenl  in  taste,  and  makes 
a  rend»blu  and  attnctive  volume." — Observer. 
"  Vigorous  thought,  and  a  clear,  piqa.int  etyie."~Eva>i^elist. 

Simms.— The  Wigwam  and  the  Cabin. 

First  and  Second  Series,  in  one  volume,  $1  25,  cloth. 
"It  contains  spirit-stirring  tales  illustrative  of  border  history  in  the  Southern  States. 
The  Life  ot  the  Planter,  the  Squitier,  the  Indiiin  nnd  the  Ne;;ro.  of  the  bold  Pioneer  nnd 
the  vigorous  Veornan.  are  given  with  a  truthfulness  that  leaves  the  namby  painby  imita- 
tion'i,  extolled  n.s  Cuoper-like  in  our  country,  far,  far  io  the  background." — Colbum't 
[Ettg'.)  Magazine, 

Soulhey,  Caroline.— Poetical  Works. 

Compri3in.r  Solitary  Hours,  The  Birth-Day  :    a  Poem,  in  Three  Parts  ; 
with  Occasional  Verses.     In  one  volume  r2mo.  $1,  cloth;  or  $1  25  in 
extra  cloth  gilt. 
"  Elevaiinn  of  sentiment,  purity  of  taste,  and  a  spirit  of  genuine  inspiration  mark  her 
poems." — Christian  Observer. 

"  Replete  with  gnins  of  pure  thought,  so  elegant,  and  at  the  same  time  so  impressive  and 
(O  powerful." — Tilcgrapk. 

Southey,  Caroline.— Chapters  on  Churchyards. 

In  one  vol.  12mo.  50  cfs    paper. 

"  All  who  read  thy  writings  must  be  thy  friends  ;  and  nil  lovers  of  nature  must  feel  as 
thev  poru-ie  them  that  few  have  painted  its  beauties  with  a  more  delicate  hand  of  truth." 
— Blackicood' s  Mag. 

Steiner,  Ignace.— German  and  English  Reader. 

Bassed  upon  the  .Affinity  of  the  Language,  to  accompany  "  OllendorflF's 

Method."     Second  edition,  12mo.  Jjfl,  cloth. 
"  I  am  satisfied  that  your  system  is  based  upon  the  true  philosophy." — From  Recom- 
mendation of  Reo.  O.  D.  .Ibbntt. 
"The  plan  I  consider  e.xcfllent  and  the  execution  satisfactory." — Prof.  II.  P.  Tappan. 

Stone,  Colonel  Wm.  L. 

THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  RED  JACKET;  or,  Sa-go-ye-wat-ha ; 
bcin^  the  Sequel  to  the  History  of  the  Six  Nations,  with  fine  Engrav- 
ings.     Svo.  $3,  cloth. 


10  John  Wiley's  List  of  Late  Pub/icalions. 

Dozirning,  A.  J. — Continued. 

A  SUPPLEMENT  TO  THE  FRUIT  TREES,  in  1  \o\.,  just 

ready. 

FRUITS.     New  edition,  royal  8vo.,  with  colored  plates. 

LOUDON'S  G.\RDENING  FOR  LADIES,  and  Companion  to 

the  Flower  Garden,  by  Mrs  Loudon,  from  the  3d  London  edition, 
edited  by  A.  J.  Downing.     ]2mo.  cloth,  $1  25. 

WIGHTWICK'S  HINTS  TO  YOUNG  ARCHITECTS.  Cal- 
culated to  facilitate  their  practical  operation,  with  additional  Notes, 
and  Hints  to  Persons  about  Building  in  the  Country,  by  A.  J.  Downing. 

i  Svo.  cloth,  $1  50. 

s  "  Mr.  Downing,  who  has  established  a  high  reputation  by  the  excellence  of  his  numerous 
J  publications  on  this  and  similar  subjects,  considers  Mr.  Wightwick  one  of  the  most  nble 
>  and  spirited  English  writers  in  his  profession,  and  he  views  most  of  his  suggestions  as 
',   equally  important  to  young  architects  in  this  country." 

I  Duer.— Life  of  Stirling. 

<  The  Life  of  William  Alexander,  Earl  of  Stirling,  Major-General  in  the 
\  U.  S.  Army  during  the  Revolution,  with  selections  from  his  Correspon- 
s  dence.  Published  for  the  New  Jersey  Historical  Society.  Svo.  cloth, 
I  $[  50. 

I  Eastman,  Mrs.  Mary  H.— Legend  of  the  Docotahs ; 

<  With  an  introductory  Preface,  by  Mrs  C.  M.  Kirkland.  In  one  vol. 
]  12mo.  cloth,  illustrations. 

I  Foster,  John. — Life  and  Correspondence 

<  Of  the  Author  of"  Decisifln  of  Character,  Essays,"  &c.  by  J.E.  Ryland, 

\  with  Notices  of  Mr.  Foster  as  a  Preacher  and  a  Companion.     2  vols,  in   < 

\  one.     Sicond  edition,  12mo.  cloth,  ;$1  25.  > 

5  "A  book,  rich  in  everyway — in  good  sense,  vivacity,  suggestiveness,  liberality,  and  S 
s   piety." — Jilirror.  ' 

i       "The  letters  which  princip-\lly  compose  this  volume,  bear  strongly  the  impress  of  his 

own  original  mind,  r.nd  are  ol"icn  chancterized  by  a  depth  and  power  of  thought  rarely  met 

with  even  in  professedly  el  ibor.ite  disquisitions  " — .ilbany  Argus. 

Fonque.— Thiodolf  the  Icelander, 

And  Aslauga's  Knight,  translated  from  the  German.     12mo.  cloth,  $1. 

"  A  spirited,  ingenious  tale,  illustrating  the  Life  and   Manners  of  the   Northmen  in  the 

Middle  Ages."— .V.   Y  ErangelUt.  '> 

'•  As  a  work  lull  of  tine  thought,  sentiment,  manly  practice,  rules  and  examples  of  con-  ( 

duct  and  of  pure  religion,  'I'hiodolf  should  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  children  and  youth  > 

of  both  sexes." — Evening  Mirror.  > 

Fuller,  Miss  S.  M. 

PAPERS  ON  LITERATURE   AND   ART,   by  the   Author  of  "  A   > 
Summer  on  the  Lakes,"  "Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,"  &c. 
l-2mo.  cloth,  .91  23. 

.    "They  evince  a  highly  disciplined  mind,  an  exquisite  taste,  and  a  wide  and  glorious 

range  of  thought." — Albany  Argus. 


John  Wiley^s  List  of  Late  Public  alt  oris.  25 

Wagslalf. — History  of  the  Society  of  Friends. 

Compiled  from  its  Standard  Records  and  Older  Authentic  Sources.  By 
W.  R.  Wagstiff,  M.D.     1  vol.  8vo.,  $2,  cloth. 

Walton  and  Cotton's  Complete  Angler ; 

Or,  the  Contemplative  Man's  Recreation,  by  Izaak  Walton  ;  and  In- 
structions how  to  Angle  for  a  Trout  or  Grayling  in  '^lear  Stream,  by 
Charles  Cotton:  with  copious  Notes,  a  Bibliographical  m,  '-■ce,  giving 
an  account  of  Fishing  and  Fishing-Books  from  the  earliest  Antiquity, 
and  notices  of  Cotton,  by  the  American  Editor  (Rev.  Dr.  Bethune). 
1st  American  edition,  with  wood  engravings,  $1  25,  cloth. 

With  fine  Portraits,  and  four  Steel  Engravings.     12mo.  $1  50, 

cloth  extra  ;  $"2,  cloth  gilt. 

The  8ame,  Large  Paper,  royal  8vo.  (only  50  copies  printed) 

$10,  cloth  extra. 

"Instend  of  beini;  tnerelj'  a  treatise  on  fishing,  ns  it  wonld  at  first  view  strike  the  mind, 
there  is  le.irned  lore,  true  religion,  poetry,  uatl  philosophy  in  it,  and  especially  the  notes  by 
the  .\merican  editor  are  full  ol"  instruction,  at  limes  of  a  high  order.'' — Observer. 

"  Its  simplicity,  its  sweetness,  its  natuial  grace  and  happy  intermi-itiire  of  grave  strains 
with  precepts  of  angling,  have  rendered  this  book  deservedly  popalar." — Hallam'i  Lilera- 
ture  of  Europe. 

"  The  best  pastoral  in  the  language,  not  excepting  Pope's  or  Phillips's."— .ffaz/iu. 

"  Pray  make  yourself  acquainted  with  it." — Charles  Lamb. 

Warbnrton. — Hoclielaga ; 

Or,  England  in  the  New  World.     2  parts  12mo.  $1,  cloth. 

The  first  volume  is  filled  with  a  lively  description  of  Canada  ;  and  the 

second,  of  the  writer's  tour  through  part  of  the  United  States. 

"  .N'oihing  can  be  better  drawn,  or  sketched  in  a  more  lively  and  spirited  manner,  than 
the  author's  descriptions  of  the  society,  ainuseinent<,  &.C.,  of  Canada  ;  indeed  he  may  be 
said  to  be  peculiarly  happy  in  hittins  off  the  more  striking  features  of  tlie  American  cha- 
racter, without  indulging  in  any  ill-timed  remark." — Qents.  Mag. 

Water-Cnre  in  America. 

Two  hundred  and  twenty  cases  of  various  diseases,  treated  with  Water 
by  the  American  Water-Cure  Physicians;  with  cases  of  Domestic 
Practice,  Notices  of  Hydropathic  Institutions  and  Publications.  1  vol. 
12mo.  5iJ  cts.  paper;  75  cts.  cloth. 

"The  list  of  patientswho  are  willing  to  testify  in  favor  of  the  system  is  most  imposing, 
and  It  exhibits  numbers  of  names  conspicuously  known  In  this  city  and  Boston.  The  pre- 
sent volume  advocates  the  water-practice  judiciou-ily,  relying  on  well-attested  facta  and 
Intelligible  principles  of  its  utility." — Christian  Inquirer. 

Waylen's  Ecclesiastical  Tour  in  the  U.  States. 

Svo.  S'2,  cloth. 

"  Mr.  Waylen  has  embodied  much  interesting  matter  in  these  reminiscences,  much  that 
will  interest  all  readers,  but  of  particular  value  to  Churchmen." — Commercial. 


Hr' 


THE  GEHY  CENTER 
UBRARY 


iiiS 


iilliil 


I      mm. 

piiiiv 


MiV.n"""'V,': 


^^... 


.luirmrnriiiii 


nil     ViiVi.         ""•       l""ii 

Vi'iV.V.'AV."''. i«i.i..ViViVi 


